Reaching for Higher Ground
by Kira Mackey
Summary: Nearly six years after Snowpoint, Aldric is recruited by a young explorer to lead a rag-tag team into Blackreach. Deep underground, he encounters danger, death, and a face he'd never thought he'd see again. Will his life become more broken than it already is, or will he start a new one? (Sequel to "The Curse's Bounty.")
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I missed you guys! Even after I said I would take a nice long break after Bounty, I couldn't. I've been working hard the past month to bring this to you.

For new readers: this story is a sequel to my story "The Curse's Bounty." It's not necessary to read that one before this one - you'll be able to figure out what's going on - but I would recommend it. For everyone: visit my profile page to find the link for my blog. I've posted a longer author's note to accompany this, as well as a timeline that may clear up any confusion as to when exactly things happened.

Crazy awesome cover art credit goes to the amazing **Original Hybrid**. The link to her blog can also be found on my profile.

**Scythe**: good timing, eh? :-)

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_Rain's Hand, 4E 211_

The house Twigs stood in front of could not really be considered a house—it brought to mind the words _manor_, _estate_, _mansion_. Rising a full three floors above the ground, it boasted several handsome balconies and a porch on the second story, cut through from behind to hint at a lush courtyard within.

Heavy, draping vines of flowering ivy spilled from the banisters overhead, and the blooms attracted a few nearby honeybees. They shivered and danced around the flowers, and Twigs watched them with a faint smile. It could have been what he was feeling at the moment, but he thought they looked excited about their work.

This was, by far, the biggest job he'd ever taken on. Then he stopped himself at that thought—he hadn't taken on anything just yet. The client had reached out to him, furnished gold for his trip to the estate, and invited him to stay on the property until they had hashed out the details of the contract. So far, nothing had been agreed upon.

But there was no doubt in his mind that he would accept. This man was clearly from money, something that Twigs badly needed. Since his father had died four years ago, things hadn't been the same with the business they had forged together. Twigs was just as talented as his father had been, but without him, it seemed he couldn't shake a streak of bad luck that had settled over him like a storm cloud.

That was something he hoped was beginning to turn around, starting right this very moment. He would accept this job, earn the gold, and then he would be able to relax for a while. It would be nice, he thought, to not have to worry about where his next meal would come from, or what he would do if he needed a new pair of boots.

The heavy, double-sided door set in the front of the manor creaked open. A blond woman descended the steps and made her way to where Twigs stood, her hand lifted to block the sun from her eyes.

"Have you been out here long?" she asked him. Before he could answer, she shook her head. "Come with me. He is expecting you."

Twigs followed her inside, taking in the simple, yet expensive, dress she wore. It was difficult to tell if she was a servant, a family member, or a business associate. He was nervous, and didn't want to insult or embarrass her with impropriety.

He settled for neutrality. "It's a lovely day," he said.

"It is," she agreed. "The Rift is always so beautiful in the springtime."

She closed the doors behind him and then turned to face him. "My, you're tall. Even for a Nord!"

Twigs smiled patiently down at her. That was something he'd heard from almost every person he'd met since the age of twelve. "So I've heard."

"May I take your jacket?"

Still unsure of her identity, he pulled off the long-sleeved leather jacket he wore.

He handed it to her, and she draped it over her forearm. "May I bring you something eat or drink?"

"Thank you, no."

She nodded, and bustled off with his jacket. Twigs waited for her to come back, but a long moment passed, and she didn't return right away.

The inside of the manor was just as impressive as the outside. It was clean and light, with pale walls and honey-colored floorboards. The windows were small, yet made of fine, clear glass that let in a great deal of the mid-afternoon light. A few candles were lit to illuminate the corners that the sun didn't quite reach, and it all lent the house a very cheery, warm atmosphere.

A few preserved heads of game were mounted on the wall, and they stared down at him with glassy eyes. He wondered if the owner of the house had killed the animals; as he inspected the long, sharp tooth of a snow-white sabercat, he thought otherwise.

The woman appeared at his side. "He will see you now. It's just up the stairs."

He thanked her and set off, anxiously taking in his surroundings as he went. From somewhere deeper in the house, he could smell food being cooked, and it made his stomach grumble. He laid a hand over his middle. _Quiet, you._

The directions had been simple for a reason, it turned out. It was hard to miss where he was going. The entire second floor seemed to be one uninterrupted area, constructed around the courtyard in the middle. After coming up the stairs, he was confronted head-on with a large writing desk down the hallway. A white-haired man was perched behind it, flipping through a book.

He approached the desk. He was not quite close enough to stretch out his hand when the man behind it looked up and set the book down.

The man was slender and long of limb, like himself, and he was clean-shaven, with unremarkable features. He was dressed in clothing that did not display his wealth, a simple blue cotton vest over a white tunic with rolled sleeves, and dark pants.

"Ah, there you are." The old man smiled. His voice was strong and clear, despite the slight rheumy film to his eyes. "Augustus Valerius. This meeting is one that I have looked forward to for months."

"Well met, Augustus. I'm T—ah, Fuldarr."

They shook hands, and Twigs hoped Augustus hadn't noticed his near-slip. Most of the time, he introduced himself using the nickname he'd had his entire life, but he figured now that there was a decent chance Augustus would not be amused by it.

The man gestured to a chair in front of his desk, and Twigs settled himself in it. Augustus regarded him curiously for a moment, smiling a little. He had a friendly, open face that was hard not to smile back at.

"I was saddened to hear of your father's passing, Fuldarr," he said after a moment.

Twigs didn't miss the familiar way that the sentiment had been spoken in. "You knew him?"

"I did. As well as anyone can know a man like your father, that is." Augustus gave a half-shrug. "I never directly hired Háls, but he became a consultant of sorts to me. His advice was indispensible, and I could always count on him to be the voice of logic amongst those that would attempt to sway me."

Twigs tried to hide the confusion he felt. His father had never mentioned Augustus, not once, and he hadn't been one to hide things. He wondered if Augustus was reading much further into their connection than his father ever had.

"You do not recognize me, or my name," Augustus observed shrewdly. "Your father hadn't told you of me."

He shook his head, and was forced to reconsider the old man's sharpness. "No. He never did."

"That does not surprise me." Augustus leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together over his front. "Háls was the kind of man that threw himself wholeheartedly into the present. It was a trait that I admired. No doubt he did not think to bring you into all of his business matters—I am sure he did not expect to leave you so soon."

Twigs swallowed. It was only recently that he'd been able to hold back a swell of emotion every time he thought too deeply about his father, and he was grateful that he shed no tears in front of Augustus. "I'm sure he didn't."

"How did it come to pass?" Augustus cocked his head to the side. His tone was not unkind.

"His death?"

"Yes."

A lock of his dark hair fell in his eyes, and he pushed it away from his face. "He…we were exploring a cave not far from Windhelm. There was a formidable underground river deep within, and my father was convinced it led to another, larger chamber where it passed into the rock."

"I see. And he wanted to follow the river?"

He looked away uncomfortably. "My father was mostly very careful and knowledgeable about what we did, and he knew the same as I that the river may have passed through a stone channel for miles before opening up elsewhere. He waded in to try to peer under the ledge where the water flowed, and he stumbled. The current was much stronger than either of us had anticipated. He was dragged beneath and into the tunnel before I could reach him."

Augustus' eyes were sympathetic. "How long did you wait in the cave for him?"

There was a long pause.

"Four days."

"I am sorry for your loss, Fuldarr." Twigs didn't look up to meet his gaze. "Your father was a brave man."

_And a foolish one, at the end_, he thought. Some nights, he could still feel the way his end of the rope—the one his father had tied around his waist—had very suddenly gone slack in his hands mere seconds after his father's head had gone under.

"And you continue the business your father had formed?" Augustus' voice had become gentle, which Twigs hated.

"Yes. He taught me all he knew."

Augustus nodded. "It is harder than one would think it is to find someone like you—someone who will go into dark places no other man will, all to find some small, otherwise worthless relic, or an old family heirloom. I am pleased that you have continued your family's legacy."

"This is all I know, all I am good at." Twigs forced a smile. "What are you seeking?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot give you much information about that. I can only give you the location and what you will be looking for. Not even I know much about it—only that I want it, very much."

That didn't present a problem. "Very well. That's not the first time I've accepted a job under those terms. Where is it that you want to go?"

Augustus stood, pulling a long, rolled piece of parchment from underneath the desk. He spread it across the wooden surface, and Twigs leaned forward to see the jagged, inked outline of a place. Many small scribbles and crude drawings had been dotted around the map, and it was easy to tell just by looking at the parchment that the location was massive.

"Are you familiar with the works of Thelwe Gelein?" Augustus asked him. He pulled three nondescript books from a drawer to his left, laying them out on the desk before him.

Twigs scoured his brain. "The name sounds familiar to me. I believe my father mentioned him once or twice."

"He was a scholar that specialized in research of the Dwemer, the ancient dwarven race that built their cities beneath the ground."

"I remember now. There are three books in his series, yes?"

"Correct. '_Dwemer Inquiries: Volume One, Two, _and_ Three_.'" He tapped the corresponding book for each title. "Within his third and final book on the subject, he mentions a 'geological anomaly or place' known mysteriously as _FalZhardum Din_. To the best of his abilities, Gelein was able to translate that to mean 'Blackest Kingdom Reaches.'"

For a moment, Twigs wondered if all the blood in his veins had turned to sludge. Even his heart seemed to stutter and stop. He stared at the books on the desk, and then his body seemed to begin to work twice as hard. His heart hammered in his chest and adrenaline scorched through him.

"You mean…Blackreach."

The old man looked up, and his sea-blue eyes held a quiet ferocity to them. Twigs had seen that look, many times, in his father's eyes. It was sheer determination.

"Yes, Blackreach. I want to go to Blackreach."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Twigs inwardly sighed as he drained his fourth bottle of mead. When the last of the sweet alcohol was gone, he belched and set the bottle down on the table a little too hard, drawing a few stares from other patrons in the inn. He almost lifted a hand in apology, and then inwardly shook his head.

_Nope. Not sorry. _

Traveling all the way to Whiterun had been a colossal mistake. He'd been assured by nearly every source he knew that if it was brutish, fearless warriors for hire he was after, the Companions were the finest gold could buy.

They were all wrong—about the 'for hire' part, anyway. The legendary warriors did indeed accept gold for tasks, but only heroic, noble deeds: saving a kidnapped maid, retrieving some family's stolen sword, or killing a cave bear stupid enough to get itself stuck inside a home.

He'd spent less than half an hour inside Jorrvaskr before he'd been shown the door. Couldn't hold it against them, really—once they'd turned him down for the third time, he wasn't able to hold back and finally came on to the tall, red-headed woman.

He sighed in remembrance. Now _she_ was someone worth joining up for. Slender but with curves in all the right places, wearing some kind of exotic armor that showed hints and teases of those perfect breasts, and light eyes that pinned him to the wall.

Another man that he hadn't seen had walked up then. An inch or two shorter than the redhead, he wore his long, dirty-blond hair tied behind him, and he was dressed like a bandit that had seen better days; all leather pants and furs around his shoulders.

Twigs hadn't been impressed, but he'd recognized some kind of fire in his eyes when the man had warned him off. Probably he was Red's husband. So he'd walked out to go lick his wounds elsewhere.

That had been an hour ago. He'd opted to skip dinner in favor of getting drunk, and he was working his way there, slowly. The Bannered Mare was a nice enough inn—dry, clean, and warmer than he'd have asked for, with that giant fire blazing in the center of the building.

The innkeep wasn't too hard on the eyes, either. Hulda was her name, and she was friendly to just about everyone, even him. As she walked past him, dragging a cloth fruitlessly over the spotless surface of the counter he was perched at, he slid a few more coins over the wood.

"Another?" she asked him wryly. But she bent over and produced a fifth bottle, uncorking it for him.

"Eh," he grunted, shrugging. "I need it."

"Rough day?"

"I've had worse, but I'm not one for all this talking and negotiating. Starting to wear on me." He stared at the bottle, clinking his thumbnail against it. "Had a few—well, more than a few—men point me in the wrong direction to Jorrvaskr, and I spent a lot of gold and a lot of time getting here that could've been used elsewhere."

Hulda frowned. "What could you possibly need done that the Companions could not help you with?"

Another swig. "I'm in the business of finding things for rich people. Most of the time, they want to crawl around in filthy dungeons and caves that they have no business being in. Fighting is not my strong suit, so I need a few tough, hard-to-scare sons of bitches to take with me."

Both the corner of her mouth and one brow drew up. "Sounds like you're in need of a mercenary, my friend."

He waved his fingers at her. "Mercenaries are more worthless than a dog with no bark. They can fight well enough, but at the first sign of real danger, most of 'em turn tail."

"Whiterun is home to one for hire, if you change your mind." Hulda nodded to her left, toward the door. "Jenassa can be found in The Drunken Huntsman, near the gates. Talented Dunmer, good with stealth and short blades."

"Someone mentioned one here in the Mare."

Hulda leaned over the counter. "Uthgerd can sometimes be up for an adventure or two, but it looks like she's away at the moment."

Twigs followed her gaze to the corner. Hulda seemed to be correct; the tall, stocky woman outfitted in expensive steel plate armor he'd seen for the past couple of nights was not at her usual place.

Instead, a man he hadn't seen before was there. Twigs' eyes lit up as he looked him over like a bull for sale. He was wearing gray-brown leather armor, with a long strap of buckles that crossed the chest of his sleeveless cuirass.

This one would do nicely for the trip he was hiring for. The man was powerfully built, from the rippling muscle of his broad shoulders and arms, to the strapping thighs that strained at the leather of his trousers. He was sitting, but the Nord could tell he'd be tall when he stood.

That was good. He looked strong. Strong men were useful for hacking at enemies that would slow the expedition, and they could also swing a pickaxe and haul rocks for a few hours if need be.

His pale blond hair looked like it could use a wash, and hung down a little past his jaw, which was shadowed in a day or two's worth of beard growth. He didn't look too clean, which pleased Twigs even more. Clean men meant men that didn't get their hands dirty—or bloody.

"Now _that_ is the epitome of the son of a bitch I'm looking for." He lurched forward to come off his stool and almost stumbled.

Hulda reached out to steady him automatically, but her eyes were wide and alarmed. "No, friend, you don't want to bother _him_. He—"

"Worry not, Hulda." He stood and smoothed his hands down the tunic he wore. "My methods of persuasion are legendary." He winked when he flashed the heavy bag of gold at his hip.

As he walked to the corner, shuffling past the crowd that had gathered for an evening meal, he ran over his pitch in his head. He cracked his jaw and rubbed his lips together, trying to work out the heavy-tongued feeling of approaching drunkenness. Maybe the man wouldn't notice the edge of slurring to his voice over the loud chatter from behind him.

He came to a stop in front of his target, and the man ignored him at first. He was bent forward in his seat now, his elbows resting on his knees, as he looked past him into the fire.

Twigs cleared his throat. When the man rolled his eyes up to meet his without moving his head, he nervously skimmed his hands over the front of his tunic again. There was not a hint of friendliness in the man's ice-blue gaze. Absently, he realized that the man was not exactly young—a line or two creased his forehead and around his eyes.

_No worries,_ he told himself. _Young men are either afraid of everything or nothing._

"Good evening," he began charitably. "May I buy you a drink?"

Wordlessly, the man held up the ale he was working on.

Twigs wilted slightly. His normally smooth tongue was failing him as he scrambled to think of something else. "Ah…may I sit?"

"Sit, stand," the man replied in a deep voice, looking past him again. "Makes no matter to me."

Twigs swiftly pulled out the chair and tucked himself into it. He lifted his right leg up to rest across his left knee, and folded his hands over his stomach, looking the picture of comfort as he studied the other man.

"You look like a fellow who'd be interested in making quite a lot of coin," he remarked.

The man, again, didn't look at him. "Gold doesn't interest me."

On the Nord's left cheek, running down from beneath his eye to halfway to his jaw, was a thin, slightly jagged scar. It had healed well, but its placement made it hard to avoid when looking directly at him.

Using that, he switched tactics. "How about adventure?"

Silence.

Twigs' foot moved restlessly. "Maybe you can help me with a problem I have," he suggested. "I visited Jorrvaskr to talk to the Companions today, and those snowberries couldn't help me."

That earned him a glance. Twigs swallowed when the man's gaze swung to him again—something in his eyes made him uneasy. He spoke quickly, trying to brush aside his nerves. "I've been hired by a very wealthy man to form a team for an expedition he wants to undertake. He has recently discovered some old literature attesting to some kind of marvelous, but mysterious, power. Every single man I've talked to has lost all color in the face when I lay out the details of the trip."

The man watched him. "Go on."

_Aha!_ he exulted. "The pay would be enormous, considering the task. The client is offering twenty-five thousand septims per week, with the opportunity for bonuses."

"And where is it he wants to go, for that kind of gold?" the man asked, locking eyes with him as drank from his ale.

Twigs hesitated for only a second. "Blackreach."

"Rich _and_ stupid." The empty bottle was placed on the table in front of him. "No wonder you've scared off everyone you've talked to."

He'd expected that reaction. "Aye, but—"

"Are you aware," the man interrupted, "of the amount of failed expeditions that have delved into Blackreach?"

"Yes, but—"

"Of the same exact make you describe?" he pressed. "Rich men who were seeking things better left untouched?"

"That's the thing, though—"

"Dozens of dead men and women, ripped apart by Dwemer machines, traps, or automatons?" His icy stare bored into Twigs'. "Or worse. Do you know what kinds of creatures make their homes in Blackreach?"

"Do _you?_" he countered.

A moment passed. The man's jaw clenched once before he answered. "I've been to Blackreach. More than once. Do not question what I've seen there."

A shock thrilled through Twigs, all his irritation vanishing. He sat up straight, his booted foot falling off his knee with a clatter. "You have _been_ to Blackreach?"

"Did I not just say that?"

He ignored the antagonistic nature of the man's reply. "This is amazing. Before my client decided to begin the process of assembling the expedition, he searched Skyrim for living men or women that had personal knowledge of Blackreach." He swallowed, trying to keep his animation to a minimum. Showing too much enthusiasm would scare the man off. "You would be absolutely invaluable to our expedition. I'm sure my client would want to more than double your fee."

"Fifty thousand septims, just for my memories," the man stated wryly.

"Not just for your memories, no," Twigs quickly amended. "You would take the position of captain of the expedition. We were simply hoping to hand that off to the most experienced person hired, but you—you _know_ what you're doing. Where you're going. What to look out for, what to avoid, the best routes through the place."

The man considered him. "I do."

"And…you're willing to go back?" Twigs asked him.

"Don't you have faith in your golden god?" The man's eyes dropped to his coin purse.

"The amount the client is offering is spectacular, no doubt," he admitted, "but is it enough to make you want to return to Blackreach? All accounts we've read of the place end with the absolute conviction that the author will never set foot near it again."

"What's your name?" he asked suddenly.

"Twigs." He didn't bother holding his hand out.

The man blinked at him. "Your name is Twigs."

He twisted his mouth self-consciously. "It was what my sister called me in my childhood. I was a gangly lad that grew to be a gangly man. Most people caught on to it, so I kept it. The name I was born to was Fuldarr, if you'd prefer that."

The man's eyes swept over him. "I think I'll call you Twigs, after all. Has a certain ring to it."

He smiled. "And your name?"

The way he leaned back and settled himself in his chair made Twigs think at first that he wouldn't answer him. "Aldric."

"Well met, Aldric." Twigs raised his hand to one of the barmaids that passed.

"Get you something?" she asked him, her tone bored.

"Two bottles of Honningbrew Mead." Normally, he would have made a show of asking for the establishment's finest drink, but Aldric had made it clear already that money did not impress him.

Twigs watched her as she sauntered away before turning back to Aldric. "Honningbrew is famous for being the best mead in Skyrim, but it's been so hard to get hold of lately. Whiterun has the largest supply I've seen yet, and it's not priced ridiculously at all."

"Honningbrew used to be located here." Aldric pointed to something over his shoulder. "Just outside the city."

Truthfully, he'd hired a carriage out of Riften and had been asleep when it finally rolled into the city's stables—the driver had had to jostle him awake. "Must've missed that."

The barmaid returned with their order, and waved her hand away when Twigs held up his coin. "We don't charge for him," she said, nodding her head toward Aldric.

His brows shot up. "Free drink? What'd you do to pull that off?"

Aldric sipped before answering. "A few favors here and there." Twigs thought he smiled behind the bottle.

"Huh."

"So, who's the old bastard waving his sack of gold in your face?" Aldric asked.

Twigs sputtered, choking mid-swallow, and hastily raised his sleeve to his mouth. Aldric watched him, face impassive, but with a smile in his eyes. After he had gathered himself, he gave a half-hearted frown to the other man.

"You can drop the act now."

"Act?" Twigs protested weakly.

Aldric waved his hand at him. "The speech, the clothes. You're a rough man, Twigs, and you don't have to act like a polished one for me."

He almost worked up the steam to get offended at that, but then Twigs realized it would be stupid to be insulted over something that was true. Relaxing in his chair, he shrugged while he drank his mead.

"Rough men don't persuade others to be hired," he said. "Professionalism does."

"And a bit of lying." Aldric leaned forward, again placing his elbows on his knees. "How many half-truths have you told so far, trying to garner interest?"

Twigs rubbed his close-shaven head, the stubble scratching his palm. "Too many. All for nothing. The second I mention Blackreach, they leave."

Aldric held up his bottle of mead. His long finger tapped at the paper label. "Are you familiar with the term, 'You catch more flies with honey than vinegar?'"

Twigs nodded.

"You're a salesman. For most salesmen, that is true. You grease the wheel, and it rolls smoothly." He set the bottle down. "But when it comes to getting men—the kind of men you're looking for—you're going to need to use vinegar."

Twigs wasn't sure he understood what he was getting at. "What do you mean?"

"Sellswords, even the dumb ones, can smell the sweetness of your words. It puts them off. If you want them to join you, you have to make them want to prove themselves to you." Aldric sat back again. "Insult them. Talk too loudly near them about how their city is full of cowards pissing down their pant legs, and how it was a waste of time to be there looking for a real man."

It was then that Twigs realized Aldric was, just like him, drunk. He hid it well, but there was a certain cast to his eyes. Once he'd caught on to that, he began to recognize the signs of a chronic drunk who sought some kind of escape—alone, not talking to anyone else, unfriendly.

He held no judgment for men that loved their drink, but there wasn't room for that on an expedition.

Aldric sensed his sudden hesitation. "Something wrong?"

Twigs looked away. "Just enjoying my drink. We'll have to say goodbye to it when we ship off."

"First, I didn't say that I was joining you just yet," Aldric shot back. "And second, I'm not a drunk. I wouldn't go into Blackreach without being stone cold sober, anyhow."

Twigs shook his head. "I didn't—"

"Your face gives too much away," he interrupted. "But you're young. You'll learn."

"Twenty-three isn't young." Twigs finished his mead. "In fact, it seems to be too damn old when it comes to women."

Aldric snorted. "I'll be forty-one in the winter. You're young."

"Forty, eh?" Twigs smiled. "How does that fare with the ladies?"

He suddenly worried he'd said the wrong thing when Aldric's face lost its bit of good humor. "They don't mind."

With the way Aldric looked, Twigs didn't doubt that one bit. He may have been older than what the maids pined for, but Aldric looked like a pirate out of some kind of romance book—handsome, rough, and boorish. Someone that would be rude to them and make them blush with humiliation but still, somehow, get them to take their dresses off.

Twigs was mildly jealous. He was too tall and thin to pull that kind of rakish, dishonorable knight persona. The most he could hope for was a mysterious archer with a tortured past.

_That might work well with farm girls…_

Aldric broke him from his thoughts. "Given up on seducing me already?"

Twigs gave a start. It had been too long since he'd been with a woman. They were starting to take over his mind. "Oh, ah, no. Do you need to know more?"

"No. I don't need to know more. It's been a long time since I've had a little adventure, son." Aldric pulled himself to his feet. "This may be stupid, and you may all die, but Blackreach is guaranteed to never be dull."

The fact that he didn't include himself in the potential to die did not escape Twigs. "How can you be so confident you'll make it out of there alive?"

Aldric turned to him and gave him the first real smile Twigs had seen from him yet.

"There's only two things you need to know about me: I don't like cabbage, and I'm hard to kill."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thank you so much for the reviews, and the favorites and follows. You have no idea how much it means to me to hear your thoughts on how this is developing, especially after what we went through in Bounty.

**Scythe**, if you create an account on the site, it would be much easier for me to answer your questions and respond to any other reviews you leave! :-) For everyone else: I'm going to try to make myself stick to a posting schedule of about every three days.

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**Chapter 3**

The mattress jostled next to him, and a small, warm hand crept up his chest. At the touch, Aldric's eyes snapped open. He was staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom in Breezehome; through the thin slivers in the wooden beams and tile, he could see that the sun was up. Birds sang their morning song outside, and he could hear the distant clacking of someone chopping wood.

Next to him, Carina was curled up, her head tucked to his shoulder. Her blond curls draped over his skin like silk, and her soft, naked body was pressed to his side. She was still asleep.

The only thing that was exactly as predictable as the sun rising every morning was the feeling that tightened his chest the second he opened his eyes. He sat up, abruptly pulling his shoulder from underneath the Breton barmaid's head, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

He bent and ducked his head between his knees, breathing deeply. Carina stirred behind him, her sleepy voice raising a question. Ignoring her, he sucked in another breath and fought down the panic filling his throat.

Every day when he woke, feeling soft hair against his skin or a woman's body pressed to his, his brain experienced a split second of triumph and relief. And then when he opened his eyes to see the wrong hair color, or smell the wrong scent, anxiety punched through his lungs and coiled around his windpipe.

Carina had wondered aloud one day whether it was her fault for the episodes. He would never tell her, but she was simply the wrong woman that he craved with every part of himself.

"Another nightmare?" she asked, her fingers trailing over his lower back.

"Yes," he lied.

Once he'd gotten a handle on the first intense wave of discomfort, the anger began to creep in. His fists bunched until his knuckles whitened and veins stood out in his forearms. No matter how much he wished he could wallow in it, the anger never quite crossed over to hatred.

He crossed the room to the dresser in the corner and yanked open a drawer with a screech of wood, searching for a clean pair of smallclothes. Once he'd pulled them on, he turned and made his way downstairs without a second word or glance to Carina.

Splashing cool water on his face helped, if only a little bit. He rinsed out his mouth, grimacing at the taste of morning-after mead. Spying the sliver of hard soap next to the washbasin, he lathered a cloth and ran it first under his arms, then between his legs. After stumbling home from the Mare last night, he'd coupled with Carina and then passed out before he could clean up.

His hair was dirty and he was in need of a shave, but he wasn't up for it at the moment. A proper bath could wait for later. Aldric didn't bother to dry himself, opting instead to pull up his breeches and sit in front of the fire.

"What have I gotten myself into?" he groaned, pushing his hair back from his head.

He dimly remembered speaking to a rangy Nord that was looking to recruit people for a trip into Blackreach. At the time, drunk and full of fire, the adventure had sounded too tempting to pass up—and the gold didn't hurt, either.

Ten steel safes were installed in the cellar of his home in Falkreath, and all of them were filled with priceless jewelry and flawlessly cut gems he'd found on his adventure. Besides being more hassle than their worth to sell, they ensured that he would not want for money for the rest of his days.

Five and a half years of nothingness meant that his savings were getting a little too low for comfort. He'd emptied a few of the safes just to make reparations for all the damage that had been partly his fault years ago. There were salaries to pay, repairs to finance, and upkeep to manage.

There had briefly been an Imperial woman he'd hired in Solitude to manage his affairs. She'd been so displeased at his tendency to run through his wealth like it burned his hands that she'd quit only a month later. Lydia and Rayya helped where they could, though there wasn't much they could do.

Carina sashayed past him, draped in a light blue dress that set off her golden ringlets and sun-kissed skin prettily. He lifted his head from his hand, momentarily distracted, just in time to watch her open the door.

"I apologize, I don't think he heard you knocking," she said congenially to someone. "Please, come in."

She stepped back to admit the visitor, slyly peering at Aldric over her shoulder. He narrowed his eyes at her, the beginnings of a growl rumbling in his chest. She was likely getting him back for his terseness upstairs.

_Little minx._

Twigs stepped into Breezehome, his eyes darting this way and that. They settled finally on Aldric, and he looked him up and down, seeing his state of undress. Aldric still sat in the chair wearing only a pair of linen breeches.

"Ah… should I come back?"

He ignored that. "What are you doing here?"

Twigs swallowed. "You told me to stop by after breakfast so we could talk a little more. You don't remember?"

No, he did not remember. He stood, annoyed with himself, and was surprised to see that Twigs was half a head taller than he was, maybe more. The man was just as reedy as he'd remembered, all arms and legs, with a lean waist tapering to narrow hips.

He watched the boy for a moment. "What's your weapon?"

Twigs blinked. He had comely brown eyes that showed too much of what he was thinking. "I prefer my bow."

"And for close contact?"

He passed a hand over his head nervously. "A dagger. I'm halfway decent with a one-handed sword, but I prefer small blades."

Aldric held his hands out, arms bent at the elbows, like a priest holding prayer. It took only a second for Twigs to mimic him. He reached out and roughly slapped the boy's hands downward. Then he did it from underneath. Each time, Twigs held steady.

Reaching forward, Aldric used the tips of his fingers to shove Twigs by the shoulders. A frown slashed across his face when he did it a second time, but he held.

"Reflexes are good," he muttered. "Bearing is steady."

Twigs looked far more self-conscious than he had the night before—from what Aldric remembered of it, anyway. He'd started off the encounter a slick merchant ready to sell his wares, and he'd ended a moon-eyed boy watching him like he was Tiber Septim.

Again, his hand came up to rub at the stubble coating his head.

"Habit of yours?" Aldric jerked his head toward him.

Twigs dropped his arm immediately. "I—the cut is something I do before every expedition," he stammered. "It's… ah, I mean to say it's a tradition. I don't need to worry about keeping it clean, and it helps me to monitor the passage of time…" He trailed off slowly.

Aldric smirked, but he was mildly impressed. Twigs was smarter than he first appeared. His 'tradition' did have its uses.

"Oh, don't mind him at all," Carina broke in, making a 'tsk' sound at Aldric. "He comes off as a thug, but he's not."

She pulled Twigs further into the house, winding her arm through his, and glared at Aldric as she passed. "Are you hungry? May I fetch you something to drink?"

Twigs' voice floated over his shoulder to Aldric as they walked to the connected kitchen area. "I wouldn't mind some milk with honey, if you have it."

Aldric scoffed, and walked past them to go upstairs and dress for the day.

* * *

After Carina had left to replace Saadia for her shift in the Mare, Aldric sat down again in his chair before the fire. He gestured Twigs to take the other one, and the young man set his cup down on the table before joining him.

"So, how old are you, anyway?" Aldric asked him. Twigs blinked, and a certain look in his eyes clued him in. "Oh. Did we talk about that as well?"

Twigs nodded. "Yes. It's all right, though. I'm twenty-three."

"Been doing this long?"

"Since I was ten."

"Ever get anyone killed?"

The young man went still suddenly, as if he'd stopped breathing. He seemed to freeze for a moment. He was both looking at Aldric, and not. "I have lost people in my crew. Not through fault of my own."

"Tell me about them."

He looked away. "The first one triggered a trap, wasn't paying attention. Steel spikes emerged from either side of the wall and ran him through. The second was a woman who suffered a reaction to a frostbite spider's bite. She died that same night."

"Ooh." Aldric sucked his teeth. "Nasty."

"It's not a joke." Twigs still hadn't lost the faraway look in his eyes.

"No, it isn't. It's good that you realize that."

"Look, I realize I'm a deal younger than you are, and less experienced, but I'm not as green as you seem to think I am," Twigs said defensively.

Aldric thought he might be right about that. "When it comes to Blackreach, you might as well be a newborn for all your experience counts."

Twigs looked like he very much wanted to argue with that. "Why?"

"The sheer size of the cavern disorients you," he said. "It throws off your natural sense of direction. The darkness can be overwhelming at times, and even though Blackreach is lit by the natural glow of flora there, that adds to the confusion. Your eyes are not used to dealing with it. Your ears cannot cope with how sound travels, how it is absorbed and reflected by your surroundings."

He shrugged. "That doesn't sound much different from many caves I've been inside."

Aldric leveled a steady gaze at him. "There are a few things Blackreach boasts that your caves have not, one of which are the traps and automatons. Do you know what the other is?"

"The Falmer?" Twigs guessed.

"They have lived there since the First Era. Their other senses have been honed to a razor's edge to make up for the loss of their sight. You're venturing into territory that they've been born and raised in for thousands of years." Aldric shook his head. "They know every bit of soil, the ridges and edges of each stone, and the stem and cap of every mushroom, and you can't see very well, or hear very well, and you're not sure of where you're going."

Twigs frowned. "But you know where you're going. And I have dealt with the Falmer before."

Aldric laughed. "I have _visited_ Blackreach. I haven't lived there for months. I haven't memorized every single thing about the cavern."

"That's fair, I suppose."

Aldric changed the subject with the question he was most interested in. "Who is your client?"

Right away, Twigs' face shut down. "I can't answer that."

"Why not?"

"That's part of the contract I strike with clients," he said honestly. "It protects them. Most of them wouldn't hire me if they couldn't be assured of some semblance of secrecy."

"It protects them, but it doesn't protect you," Aldric observed. "What's to stop someone from trying to beat the information out of you?"

Twigs paled a shade or two and flinched when he shifted his leg.

Aldric hid a grin. "I was speaking figuratively."

The boy cleared his throat. "No one's threatened me so far."

"With this kind of gold being waved around, word will spread," he speculated. "It'll happen sooner or later."

"I… am unsure how to respond to that," Twigs said honestly. "The only danger I've faced is from the locations themselves."

"Who have you recruited so far?"

Twigs gave a half-smile as he wordlessly gestured to him.

Aldric shut his eyes. "You haven't recruited anyone."

"Not yet. I have had to turn away a few, though. Being selective is important."

He rubbed the spot between his eyebrows. "How long have you been reviewing candidates?"

"Three months."

"I'm surprised you didn't give up," Aldric said.

"Believe me, I wished I could." Twigs looked tired.

"Where have you been recruiting?"

"I've traveled to Whiterun from Riften on the word of many reputable people that the Companions were my strongest bet. Before that, Solstheim."

That made him sit up straighter. "Why were you on the island?"

Twigs heaved a sigh. "For the kind of money that's being promised, I'd scour Tamriel if I were able to. I bartered passage on a ship out of Windhelm for free."

"And you were unsuccessful there?"

"Yes. The entire island is a bizarre, frightening place." Twigs scowled. "Nothing makes sense to me there. Every new citizen I met was stranger than the last."

"Dunmer culture is different," Aldric acknowledged, "but it's fascinating."

"It's disturbing."

"Refresh my memory," he suggested. "How exactly did you get started doing this?"

"My father explored ruins and caves as a hobby, and started taking me along when I was ten or so. I began to get approached by men and women offering me gold when I was seventeen." Twigs gave a modest shrug. "My father had decided to form it into a business not much earlier than that."

Aldric laughed, and then stood. "All right. I think I've had enough of this."

Twigs frowned, but followed his actions and stood up from his own chair. "What do you mean?"

"Can't help you, kid."

"I thought you were going to sign on." The tone of betrayal in his voice was too obvious to overlook.

Aldric ignored him and opened the door, standing aside. "Going with you into one of the most dangerous locations in all of Tamriel—with a team that has no idea what they're facing, no less—would be one of the stupidest, most half-assed things I've ever done. I'm too old, too tired for this."

Flushing with either anger or embarrassment, Twigs set down his cup and swept past Aldric out the door. He strode down the steps and onto the street, making for the Mare without another word or look at Aldric.

He _almost_ felt bad as he watched the tall, slim Nord's back get smaller the further he went down the street. Twigs was certainly one of the most unique people he'd met in a while, and his enthusiasm and naiveté had its own kind of charm.

Closing the door, he leaned against it and stared around the first floor of Breezehome. It was clean and tidy, and looked exactly the same as it had the first day he'd moved in. Despite everything in his life, this house had always been unchanging.

The reliability was comforting, but maybe it wasn't what he needed anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The plains of Whiterun Hold were renowned for being beautiful and utterly peaceful—and Aldric hated it.

It was not what he wanted to see after stashing his clothing and weapons outside of the city gates; when he shifted to run and hunt, he wanted something to match his mood. Angry skies, raging storms—anything other than the starry, peaceful night above him.

Aldric loped through the hilly grasslands miles outside of Whiterun. A mild, sweet-smelling breeze rippled through his fur and stirred the day's old scents from the ground as he hunted.

He turned north, dropping to all fours to head toward the mountains that bordered the edge of the hold. Each lungful of crisp air, each footfall served to push back the conscious thoughts racing through his mind.

There was no way to tell how much time had passed when he found himself suddenly approaching a road. A bridge stretched across a riverbed nearby, and he saw the flicker of a torch too late as he tried to slow his pace.

He blew past a small party—an armored man on foot, leading a horse that sat another, finely clothed man. Lit by the torch, Aldric caught a glimpse of the guard's shocked face as he streaked past.

The horse screamed as it reared into the air. The guard lunged out of the path of the animal's flying hooves and made a grab for the reins. The nobleman slid backward from the saddle, falling heavily to the stones.

He risked a glance behind him once he'd put enough distance between them. Both men were standing in the middle of the road, still looking in his direction. Aldric wondered if they knew what they had just seen.

For the better part of an hour, he followed a deer's trail until it fruitlessly tapered off near a stream. He paused, drinking deeply from the shallow water, and then shook the droplets from his muzzle. Lifting his head, he observed the land around him while he caught his breath.

He had always enjoyed being a werewolf, and that experience had become even better after meeting Rory. She'd taught him much about what it meant to be wolf and how he could deepen the tie with his beast.

And now it was something he had grown to resent. Being wolf had granted him power and strength and invaluable sharpened senses, but it had also allowed him to become mated forever. Aldric couldn't get away from Rory, no matter how many miles separated them.

Some days, he felt that his sanity was slowly leaking away. The bond felt like he was constantly waiting for her to walk through the door—any door. Even now, in the wilds of Skyrim, his body urged him on; as if he would find her, if only he ran faster, further.

_You could,_ a voice whispered.

Underneath the stairs of Breezehome, there was a barrel filled with salt. Inside, wrapped in countless layers of sackcloth, rested a severed head that had once belonged to a witch. The Hagraven's head did not rot, as if it would wait patiently through the years to be reunited with its body.

And far in the frozen north, on a glacial island in the Sea of Ghosts, there was a brazier that burned deep inside of the resting place of Ysgramor. If he fed the witch to the flames, his beast would be ripped from his body. He could be free—from his wolf, from the bond.

_You could. _

Seconds after the thought passed, a haunting, melodic cry rose into the night air somewhere far away from him. His hackles rose as the song stretched on and on. When it had almost faded into nothingness, another wolf took up the call. Then a third, and a fourth, raised their voices to answer their alpha.

When only silence met his ears, he sank onto the soft earth below him. Breathing hard, his claws dug into the mud. Something akin to grief choked him. He felt paralyzed, as if the moment would never end.

Finally, Aldric pushed up from the ground, stumbling as he tried to clear his head. If the gods were trying to reach him with a sign, he was going to do his damnedest to ignore it. He simply closed his mind and ran.

By the time he made it back to the city, it wasn't far from dawn. The moons had passed their peak in the sky. He took a moment before dressing to watch the fading aurora, letting the breeze cool the sheen of sweat from his skin.

It was possible, after all, to feel lost despite knowing exactly where he was.

* * *

Walking into Jorrvaskr still gave Aldric a sense of trepidation. It had been a few years since all the changes had been made, and he couldn't deny that it had taken a weight from his shoulders—but he also couldn't shake the feeling that he had still let down everyone within.

It wasn't yet noon, so most of the Companions were busy starting their days. Brill was just inside, looking over something in a hardbound book near the door. He looked up at the sound of his entrance and gave an easy smile.

"Oh, good morning, Aldric," he said agreeably. "How do you do these days?"

Aldric ran a hand through his hair, looking around. "Better than I have been, Brill. Thank you for asking. Where is Vilkas?"

"He's in his quarters, working with this month's ledger."

He smirked. "I'm sure that puts him in a pleasant mood."

Brill laughed. "As it always does."

After taking his leave, Aldric made his way down the stairs into Jorrvaskr's living quarters. The hall was silent, though his sharp ears could catch muttered grumblings coming from the very end.

He followed the sounds of irritation, glancing into the rooms on either side of the hall as he went. Farkas and Aela were both out. The doors to the Harbinger's quarters were ajar, and Aldric knocked on one of them with a knuckle before leaning against the jamb.

Vilkas looked up from his seat at the desk, a severe frown darkening his face. He was perched in front of a thick book, opened to a page decorated with long columns of numbers and tiny scrawled statements. When he saw Aldric, his brow unwrinkled and the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile.

"And what do you want, whelp?"

Grinning, he walked into the room. Vilkas took his offered hand and drew him into a half-hug, bumping his shoulder against Aldric's. "How are the finances, Harbinger?"

Vilkas waved him off good-naturedly before slamming the ledger shut, a scrap of fabric marking his place. "Bah. No matter how often I have to do this, I somehow manage to incorrectly tally the numbers at least twice."

"That's not something I miss."

"I do not doubt you, friend. The small details of leadership are so tedious." He gestured behind him. "Sit, sit. Would you like some mead? Farkas tapped a fresh keg last night."

The thought was tempting, but his head was still pounding from the night before. "Ah, no. Thank you."

"Tea, then?"

"That would be nice, if Tilma is around."

Vilkas smiled. "She's always around."

While he went off to find the elderly housekeeper, Aldric's eyes wandered around the sitting room he was in. It looked much the same as it ever had. When he'd lived there, he hadn't changed much of the way Kodlak had arranged it, and neither had Vilkas.

Deciding to hand over the title of Harbinger to Vilkas had not been an easy one. Aldric hated to disappoint anyone, especially the Companions he had come to care very deeply about, but it was the right thing to do.

The man in question returned with Tilma in tow, interrupting Aldric's train of thought. She carried a small tray with two cups of steaming liquid and a few small plates. The smell of the fresh, still-hot bread made its way to Aldric's nose and he perked up. Tilma's sweet bread was excellent—she tended to sprinkle cinnamon over each slice after buttering them.

"Hello, dear." After setting the tray down, she warmly stroked the side of his head.

"Good to see you, Tilma." He accepted a plate. His slice of bread was liberally covered in cinnamon, and he grinned down at it before demolishing half of it in one bite.

"Still not feeding yourself well enough, I see," she scolded.

He talked while he was still chewing. "I miss your sweet bread. I can't make it the same way you can."

"A good cook never reveals her secrets." Her eyes sparkled. "I made your tea just the way you like it, weak with just a touch of sugar."

"Thank you."

After she'd walked away, Vilkas looked at him over the rim of his own cup as he sipped his tea. Aldric was used to seeing the silver eyes of werewolf men and women, but something about the way Vilkas looked at everyone made his more piercing, more intense.

"How have things been?"

Vilkas swallowed. "Well enough. Kaspar has settled in well with Aela. We still hope to have him join us someday."

"Kaspar, a Companion?" For some reason, the thought amused Aldric. Aela's mate, a former scout for a werewolf pack, was talented in his skills, but he was also a gentle man.

Vilkas lifted a shoulder in a thoughtful shrug. "He has proven useful when traveling with Aela on her assignments. You know that we look for a range of talents when recruiting."

"That's true, I suppose."

A moment passed, neither of them talking while they drank their tea. Vilkas was much more friendly and open with him than he used to be, but the two were still not very close.

"I assume you're here wanting to know more about the pup that visited trying to round up members for his dwarven expedition." Vilkas played with his empty cup.

Aldric choked on his last piece of bread. After he'd forced it down, he looked up. "How do you know that?"

He gave a lopsided smile. "You don't visit much these days, then you show up only two days after a strange incident. Not hard to connect."

Aldric caught the slight catch in his voice when he mentioned his scarcity around Jorrvaskr. "I am sorry, you know. That I don't visit more."

Vilkas watched him patiently. "We worry about you, Aldric."

He looked away. "You don't have to."

"How can we not? It has been nearly six years—"

"It feels as if it happened only weeks ago, to me," Aldric interrupted. "I wish I could forget about everything, but I can't."

"When last we spoke of this, two years ago, I asked you if you still felt the bond with her," Vilkas remembered. "You said that you did, but you felt as if it were fading, and that you hoped in the future it would be even less. How is it now?"

Aldric vividly remembered that conversation, because he had been infuriated to find himself coming to tears during it. "For a time, I thought things were improving. I genuinely wanted to believe it. I have come to understand that nothing has changed at all, Vilkas. Since the day she took off, nothing has changed."

Vilkas dragged a crust of bread around his plate. "You always were very honest."

"I gain nothing by lying to myself," he said.

"How have things been with the barmaid, the young one?" the other man asked. "Ah… apologies, I cannot recall her name."

"Carina." Aldric shrugged. "She's good to me. A good distraction. She helps when I'm lonely."

"And the attacks in the morning?" Vilkas sat back.

"The same."

"Gods," the other man muttered, looking away. "I cannot imagine what you go through, Aldric. Truthfully, it has made me sour on the concept of bonding with another. Marriage does not present this problem."

"You would still hurt if you had a wife that left you," Aldric pointed out.

"Yes, but my soul—and my wolf—would not be permanently bound to her," Vilkas replied. "I would not suffer the way you do."

A soft feather of anger caressed the inside of Aldric's head. There were days, when he recalled how he had come to bond with Rory, that he was furious—at her, at himself.

At the time, he had wanted nothing more. He'd been in love with her, and he'd been certain that she'd been in love with him, in her own way. He spent much time thinking back, replaying every conversation, every glance, every touch. Had he only imagined what she felt for him?

When he felt like he had been fooled into the bond with her, he always reminded himself that she was going through the exact same thing. Wherever she was, she felt the intense desire to find him, to be with him. She woke up feeling sick every morning, and fell asleep every night with her arms aching to hold him. It gave him a sick sense of satisfaction to imagine her sharing his pain.

His food roiled in his stomach. "What did the boy have to say?"

Vilkas blinked at the abrupt change in subject. "Not much. Once it became clear he intended to go into one of the dwarven cities in an attempt to access the caverns beneath, I showed him out. That is folly."

"Surely you're not afraid of a challenge, Vilkas," Aldric goaded.

Vilkas gave him an indignant look. "The Companions will be glad to face any kind of troubles that come our way, but he has no clear goal in mind other than someone to escort him to a source of power. We are not mercenaries, Aldric. Under the leadership of Kodlak, you, and I, it has been our intent to uphold the noble legend of Ysgramor and his Five Hundred Companions."

Those lines were ones he'd heard several times before. Instead of making him feel proud, it was just another thing that stuck in his craw.

Vilkas' mention of Ysgramor served only to remind him of the unpleasant truth of things—it was hard for him to leave the puffed-up tale of valor and pride alone when he knew that genocide lay at the heart of it.

When he'd helped a vampire woman named Serana stop her father's crazed intentions to fulfill a prophecy to black out the sun, he had seen and learned many things. During their travels, they had met what were quite possibly the last two living Snow Elves.

The Nords came from the mother home of Atmora, led by Ysgramor to colonize the land. Snow Elves sacked the city of Saarthal during the Night of Tears, but Skyrim had belonged to them first. When Ysgramor retaliated for Saarthal, he sought to not only murder as many Snow Elves as possible, but to drive them from Skyrim.

The Snow Elves, seeking help from the Dwemer, had in turn been forced to consume a toxin that crippled their sight and made them complacent. This led to the race slowly mutating into what was known today as the Falmer.

Aldric sighed, ruffling his hair. It all seemed to lead back to Twigs and his trip. "Did he ask for anyone in specific?"

"He did not get that far with his pitch." Vilkas shook his head. "Though he did make an appeal toward Aela. Unfortunately, Kaspar overheard and personally escorted him out."

Aldric chuckled. "That's unfortunate."

"Why?"

"I came here to ask Kaspar if he would join me on the expedition."

Vilkas' reaction was comical. He jolted straight up in his chair, rattling his plate with his hand as he did so. "You are joining the boy?"

"Yes, I think I will."

"Aldric… _why?_" Vilkas demanded. "He is on a death mission. Blackreach is no place for him or the team he seeks."

"I don't know," Aldric said pleasantly. "I think he stands a better chance with me on his side."

Vilkas looked him up and down briefly, considering. "That may be true," he allowed, "but I still don't understand the reason why."

"I don't have much to fill my days with anymore, Vilkas. Skyrim no longer needs the Dragonborn, and I think I have had quite enough of trying to drink myself into a hole in the ground," Aldric replied. "I think I might like that kid. He has… something."

"Why do you need Kaspar?" Vilkas asked.

"He's still a scout. That will be useful."

"Why do you need a scout?"

"For an expedition like this one, I'll need many talents. Scouts, archers, thieves."

"So you are recruiting those with specific talents," Vilkas said. "You will look to your friends in Riften?"

"No."

Vilkas noticed the sudden stiffness to his body. "Ah. I remember. You are not on good terms with them."

"No," he said slowly. "I'll leave it to Twigs to find a thief on his own. If he'll even think to do it."

"Are you not worried one of your brethren will be recruited?" Vilkas questioned.

"The Guild will most likely turn him away, if Twigs even manages to make it to the Flagon." Aldric finished his tea. "Simply put, it's too dangerous. Thieves are nothing if not good at protecting their own hides."

"Would the vast amount of gold not be able to sway them?" he wondered. "Perhaps some of the younger, more inexperienced ones?"

He mulled that over. "I would hope not. Brynjolf wouldn't let anyone leave with Twigs. Not unless they wanted to stay with the Guild."

"You know what young men are like." Vilkas was serious. "So confident of everything. It may be tempting enough to leave their Guild for the promise of wealth."

"I would like to believe that Brynjolf hasn't recruited anyone as stupid as that," Aldric said bluntly. "Staying with the Guild means a dry, warm bed and plenty of food, not to mention steady work. This expedition represents wealth, yes, but at the high chance of death."

"And you want to take Kaspar with you?" There was a subtle tinge of accusation in his voice.

"I can protect Kaspar." Aldric swallowed his frustration. "I know many fine candidates, but I do not want to take a team of my friends with me. Kaspar is the best at what he does, so for him I will make an exception."

The unspoken sentiment that hung in the air between them was also that Kaspar did not have much to do. Since moving to Whiterun, he kept mostly to himself. It was hard for him to adjust to living outside of pack life, and he had taken upon himself the obligation of providing game to the Companions. Most of his days were spent hunting alone in the plains of the Hold.

Vilkas thinned his lips into a displeased line. "I cannot tell you not to do this, Aldric, and neither can I expect Kaspar to turn you down. He is not a Companion."

"I still am, though," Aldric challenged.

He nodded. "Aye, but you are a member of the Circle."

Aldric sat back and rolled the tension from his neck. "Thank you. I wouldn't want to cause problems here."

"I have faith in your decisions, my friend." Then suddenly a wide grin spread across Vilkas' face.

Aldric narrowed his eyes. "What is it?"

"Now you get to deal with Aela."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: Happy Friday! I'd like to thank you guys with sticking with me so far. I know this is taking a bit to set up, but there will be a large amount of action and tension once this picks up, so the dialogue and exposition is necessary to keep it from feeling like a Michael Bay flick, haha. I am still laughing at the movies you guys have compared this to. Little bit Indiana Jones, little bit The Mummy, little bit Ocean's Eleven (especially in this chapter).

**Scythe**: I know, I lied. I said every three days, but I can't seem to be able to stop from posting every other day, at least right now. I'm also a firm believer in writing ahead so that I won't be susceptible to writer's block. I was a hundred pages in when I posted the first chapter. Thank you for your continued support and enthusiasm! :)

**Hatred**: Well, haha, thank you...I think?

Thank you to all of those who have favorited and followed, reviewed, or simply lurked. You're my heroes. Whew, okay, enough talking, onto the new chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Not for the first time, Twigs felt a sense of hopelessness. The job was starting to look too hard for him alone. The last thing he wanted to do was return to Augustus and tell him that he had to quit, but it was looking worse and worse by the day.

_Perhaps I simply _am_ too inexperienced and fool-headed_, he thought morosely.

He was stretched out on his back in the narrow single bed of the ground-floor room he'd rented in the Bannered Mare. Outside his door, he could hear sounds that should've cheered him; the talented strums of the bard playing his lute, a hot and welcoming fire crackling, and voices raised in good spirits.

Normally, it would have enticed him out, but tonight he was too depressed.

When he'd returned to the inn more than a day ago, he'd run into Carina, the woman that was living with Aldric. She wasn't his wife, but she wasn't simply his friend, either. Whatever their relationship, she was too nice for him.

Stopping him on his way to his room, she'd pulled him aside. "Are you all right?" she'd asked, her eyes concerned.

He'd wondered if his emotions truly did show too clearly on his face. "I'd rather not talk right now, if you don't mind."

Carina had let go of his elbow, but patted him sympathetically. "You wanted to hire him for something, didn't you? You mentioned an expedition."

He hadn't been able to meet her soft blue eyes. "Yes. I'd thought he was going to come, but he changed his mind at the last moment."

"From the look on your face, he wasn't too kind about it, either," she'd mused perceptively.

Twigs shrugged, saying nothing.

"Let me suggest something." She'd placed both hands on his shoulders. "You stay here until tomorrow night. If Aldric doesn't come seek you out on his own, then I'll personally buy you an entire barrel of mead."

He'd chuckled, but shook his head. "I don't think he'll be back. He sounded quite certain."

"He rarely makes up his mind at the first opportunity," she'd told him. "He will be back."

"You're sure?"

She'd smiled. "I'm sure. And you're going to need to hold fast. At first, you'll think he's there merely to taunt you, but if you refuse to play his game, you'll win."

Intrigued, Twigs had agreed to stay for another night.

Now, it looked like Carina's plan wasn't going to pan out. He'd told himself that he wasn't going to stay through the night, but it was already getting late, and he didn't want to sleep on the carriage.

Sighing, he sat up and pushed his boots off. He undressed and folded his clothing before tossing them on the chair next to the bed. Twigs blew out all but one small candle, and settled beneath the covers. As usual, he sent out an ambiguous prayer that he'd have more solutions when he woke in the morning.

He was just beginning to drowse off when his door suddenly burst open. It bounced off the opposite wall, rattling the wardrobe, and the ceramic jug perched on top fell to the floor with a screech of broken pottery.

Twigs yelped and shot upright. He stared at the dark outline in the brightly lit doorway. "Aldric?"

He narrowed his eyes as he looked Twigs up and down. "You weren't touching yourself, were you?"

"What? I… no! What are you doing?"

"Talking to you." He helped himself, walking inside, and closed the door behind him. "Isn't that obvious?"

"No, it isn't obvious to me," Twigs shot back irritably, "because I was _sleeping_."

"Aww," Aldric said condescendingly. "Have a long, hard day of doing nothing?"

He opened his mouth to yell back at him, some sharp retort—exactly what, he hadn't quite figured out—but then he remembered what Carina had said.

Forcing himself to sound calm, he looked back at Aldric. "I thought I might as well rest up before leaving Whiterun in the morning."

"Hmph." Aldric looked around the room disinterestedly before focusing on the candle next to the bed. "How romantic. You have a woman in here earlier?"

Hard as he tried, Twigs wasn't able to keep himself from reddening. "No."

A wily look came over Aldric's face. "A man?"

Twigs closed his eyes to prevent himself from rolling them. "Can I help you with something? I've got a long journey tomorrow."

Aldric's finger poked at the candle, his nail digging into the softened wax that had dripped down the side. "I thought I was the one that was supposed to be helping you."

"No, we've already settled that," Twigs reminded him patiently. "I appreciate the fact that you talked to me, but I understand. I've been thinking about it."

"Oh?"

"You were right." He could hardly believe how bold he was being. "It wouldn't do for me to worry about my captain hurting his back or hip in Blackreach."

Aldric watched him suspiciously. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I need younger men for what I'm about to undertake. You told me yourself, you're too old for this."

Aldric's reaction was immediate. He sat up straighter in his chair and scowled at Twigs. "If you think some twenty-five-year-old idiot with a battleaxe could do better than I can, then you should think harder, you little field mouse."

"That's an awful lot of talk you have there," Twigs noted coolly. "I don't pay for words. I pay for action."

"Well, look at you." He looked him up and down again. "Learned a bit about how to negotiate, have you?"

"No one is negotiating with you, Aldric." Twigs pulled his blankets aside and stood up. He gingerly stepped around the shattered jug and opened his door. "Thank you for the visit, but I'm afraid I have to get back to sleep now."

Aldric followed him to the door, and for a split second Twigs wondered if he'd been too convincing. Then, instead of walking out the door, he wrenched it out of Twigs' hand and closed it abruptly.

"I will have all the facts before pledging my sword arm to you and your client," he growled, and stabbed a finger at the chair he'd been in just a moment ago. "Now sit down."

Obediently, Twigs crossed the floor and sat down in the chair. He folded his arms over his bare chest uncomfortably, but didn't want to chance losing the moment by taking the time to dress.

"Is this just about the gold?" the other man asked him. "Be honest with me. I won't enjoy being double-crossed in the future."

"It's the gold," Twigs acknowledged, "and the challenge. I need both. I have nothing else. My father died several years ago."

Aldric ran the tip of his finger over his chin, scratching against the stubble there. The moment stretched on, and Twigs shifted his weight in the chair.

"Are their rivals for your client?" he asked. "Think carefully. Like I told you at my home, with the kind of coin you're bragging about, the word will spread."

Twigs thought back to the conversation he'd had with Augustus Valerius. With very large or demanding expeditions like this, it wasn't uncommon for clients to hire more than one team. Some of them were just being practical, and some thought the competition would spur each opponent to work harder.

Augustus hadn't mentioned hiring another team, but he seemed to possess exactly the kind of practicality that would result in a secondary hire.

"It's possible," he allowed.

Aldric considered that. "As captain, how much freedom would I have?"

"Truthfully, I'm supposed to tell you that you report to me. I'm supposed to represent the client." He shrugged. "But I'm not going to tell you that. Expeditions like this don't work with more than one leader. I am not willing to fill that role, so it falls to you."

"If I asked you what the most dangerous place you've been so far has been, what would you say?"

Twigs didn't have to think about it. "Mzinchaleft."

Aldric's cynicism appeared to suffer a brief slip. "You've been to Mzinchaleft?"

Twigs nodded.

"Why?"

"I needed to learn about Dwemer ruins, and Mzinchaleft seemed like the least likely to kill me." His mouth quirked.

"Then you know the Gatehouse outside of Mzinchaleft is one of the fastest ways into Blackreach," Aldric stated. "It can be opened from the wilderness and provides access right away."

"It does," Twigs agreed, "but my client doesn't want to use the Gatehouse."

"And why not?" Aldric leaned forward.

"I wasn't privy to that information, but he was set on it."

"There are several other exterior entrances, then," Aldric said. "The lifts at Raldbthar, Alftand, and the Tower of Mzark all go directly from the surface to Blackreach."

He resisted the urge to shuffle in his seat again, trying to hide his discomfort. "It was one of the conditions of the trip that the expedition passes through a dwarven city to reach the cavern."

Aldric stared at him. "Tell me why."

"I don't know why." Twigs cracked the knuckles of his left hand, still not managing to make eye contact. "That was one of his terms. He wants my journal after we return. Perhaps he's simply living vicariously."

"Going through a city lessens the chances of success each hour that passes." He shook his head. "The longer you're in one, the more resources you run out of. Food, fresh water, medicine, potions, what have you—it all starts to leak like sand through your fingers, faster than you'd believe." His face was more serious than Twigs had seen it the entire time he'd been there.

"You are telling me nothing I haven't experienced for myself, Aldric. I told you, I've been doing this for a long time."

He shook his head, grimacing. "People start to get distracted by the opportunity for wealth. They start to hear things in the night that aren't there, or they miss things that are. Strong men and women have lost their minds inside what remains of the dwarven cities. Death isn't the only thing you have to worry about."

Twigs raised his hands defensively. "I told him this myself. He knows what he wants, and anything besides a city—and Mzinchaleft itself—is not an option."

Aldric thought for a moment. He looked to be going through a variety of options in his head. Twigs wondered what he was weighing.

"Then I want to go through Raldbthar."

"_Raldbthar?_" Twigs repeated, his eyes wide. "Not Alftand?"

"You heard me."

"Why in Oblivion would you want to go through Raldbthar?" Shock surely showed openly across his features. "Raldbthar is the deadliest dwarven ruin of them all. It's riddled with traps."

"I am aware of that, Twigs," Aldric replied. "Alftand presents an easier journey, but its opening into the cavern isn't suitable. Raldbthar has a far preferable point of entrance."

Twigs reached up to his head once again, and when his fingers met with the lack of hair to run through, he rubbed at it instead. "Can you elaborate on that?"

"Entering through Alftand puts you at the northeast end of Blackreach, flat on the ground in an open, unprotected area. From that position, you're confronted with a road. To the left lie towers patrolled by Falmer, and there are two Centurions you have to deal with if you stay on the path." Aldric stretched his leg out. "To the right lie more Falmer and a waterfall with a long drop."

"And ahead?"

"There's an old building used as a laboratory."

"I meant past that."

"As far as you're concerned, there's nothing past that," Aldric told him.

Twigs was confused. "What?"

"You're speaking of leaving the path and forging straight through the 'wilderness' of Blackreach, so to say, aren't you?"

He nodded.

"I'm going to give you the first tip of many about Blackreach." Aldric held up a finger. "Stay on the path."

"There have been many times that I've lost a path or purposefully left one—"

Aldric stared at him.

Twigs' Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Right. Stay on the path."

"I'll strike a deal with you," Aldric proposed at last, sitting forward. "I will give you a list of exactly the kind of people you need to recruit for the team. It should make your job easier with the specifications to look for. If you manage to put the team together, then I will join you."

Twigs was surprised and pleased. "How many people are on the list?"

"Six, including me and another I have in mind." He brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I'll take care of that person, and you'll be responsible for tracking down the other four."

Twigs turned to his pile of clothing and felt around his tunic for a moment, finally producing his leather-bound journal. It was tattered and abused, having been forced nearly in half to fit in his waistband many times, but he had no interest in a new one.

He stood and walked to the wardrobe, pulling open the drawer at the bottom. As usual in most inns, there were a few common supplies inside, including an inkwell. Taking it, he sat down at the table again and withdrew his own small quill.

"The first member you'll need is the captain, whom you've already found—assuming you can assemble the rest of the team," he started.

Twigs wrote it down in his journal anyway. "Right. The captain."

"The second is the scout. You'll want someone capable of quickly learning new information about your surroundings—someone who can also report on movements of people or enemies you may come across." Aldric watched him scribble away on the paper. "This is the spot I can recruit for."

"Right."

"The third is an archer. Anyone skilled with a bow will do, but in this case I'd prefer a sharpshooter; someone capable of picking off targets from a distance."

Looking up from his journal, Twigs paused a moment. "Are we going to provide the weapons for those we recruit?"

Aldric raised a brow. "You ask me that question? I thought you represented the client."

He flushed. "I do. I have a certain amount of money to use as I see fit, but you know as well as I do that some of these people are going to prefer their own weapons."

"I'd rather not try to pick up someone fond of using a chipped, rusted sword," Aldric allowed, "but I'd say it's reasonable to fund new equipment."

"Right. What's the fourth?"

"A thief," Aldric said. "You need someone who can pick locks."

"We're most likely not going to be searching for treasure."

"Chests aren't the only things secured by a lock—doors, rooms, even whole passages will be inaccessible to you without the skill to open them." He gestured to the journal. "Write it down. Thieves are also useful for slipping into or past an area full of enemies. Do not disregard stealth."

"You make a point," Twigs admitted.

When he'd finished putting that in his journal, Aldric continued. "The fifth is a warrior, skilled in heavy weapons and hand-to-hand combat. They'll be your fighters when things get ugly, and your muscle for moving or clearing objects."

The quill flew across the paper.

"And the sixth and last member you'll need is a mage. Search for someone who specializes in conjuration as well as restoration. You'll need a healer to come along, and summoned creatures can be invaluable in places like Blackreach."

He watched Twigs finish writing the list, and he looked over the journal for a moment, muttering to himself as he made sure he had everything correct.

"Have you never assembled a team like this before?" Aldric asked him. "You have never considered the strengths and assets you'd need?"

Twigs paused in the act of crossing something out and looked up. "I have never undertaken an expedition the size of this one. Mostly, I focus on getting in and out of a location as quickly as possible. Using three or four strong men or women has been sufficient in the past."

"You will see death again on this trip," Aldric told him. "Most likely before we exit Raldbthar. I will do my best to prevent it, but I cannot control the reactions of every single person. Some will panic and run straight into a trap. Someone will think they know better than I do and ignore me. Some will do something foolish like wandering off in the middle of the night to make water without telling anyone else."

Twigs nodded. "Yes. I've thought about it."

"Good." He clapped him on the shoulder. "Your best asset in a place like Blackreach will be your calm. If you can swallow your shouts, fight down your heart rate, and think around your mind's terrified screaming, you will make it through. Calm and steady thinking will save you above all else."

Twigs stood, folding up his journal and laying the quill on the table. "When should I return?"

"Send word when you've finished and we'll go from there." Aldric opened the door and walked out. "Try not to hire any idiots, please."

Twigs closed the door and turned around to look at the mussed bed and the mess on the floor. He stared at the journal, remembering Carina's advice.

"I can't believe that worked."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Back again! I may actually post every day for the next few chapters, since I know this is still going a bit slow. We'll see!

**Scythe**: Thank you again, you always make me grin.

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**Chapter 6**

Twigs had ended up back in Riften. Strangely enough, he had grown fond of the city. It was not a beautiful one, with its tendency to be overcast and filled with mist coming off the lake, but it had a sort of shabby charm to it.

He stood near Plankside, reassuringly patting the ever-present lump of the journal he had tucked into his waistband. Today, he searched for a thief, and the same people that had pointed him to Whiterun for warriors now pointed him to Riften for thieves.

Using Aldric's list had already made a difference. Twigs was not inexperienced at compiling his own teams, but he'd never had to put this amount of planning and thought into it. He had to admit that singling out candidates with particular strengths and talents made the process so much easier.

Without asking the locals, he had gleaned that the Ratway was the source of most of the illegal activity in the city. More than once, he'd been warned to stay away from there by the guards. It was almost too easy to stroll down the wooden stairs and casually walk until he found himself in front of an unlocked iron gate.

He swung open the door, and it creaked noisily. He quickly closed it behind him and made for the door into the tunnels ahead of him.

After he'd entered the Ratway, he blinked for a moment, trying to adjust his eyes. Cool, damp air blew against his face. For being an old sewer system, it didn't smell much like waste at all.

Making his way through the brick halls, his instincts as an explorer immediately took over. He walked in a low crouch, muffling his footsteps, and steered himself away from any sources of light.

There were no human threats, but he did encounter a couple of over-confident skeevers. A few hearty kicks from his boot were enough to drive them off, however. He sheathed his dagger, glad that he hadn't needed to use it. It wouldn't be a good first impression to walk into the Ragged Flagon covered in skeever blood.

When he reached the door he was looking for, he stood up straight and made to brush his hair back from his forehead. For the hundredth time, his hand was met with empty air, and he grunted in annoyance as he dropped his arm.

Once he entered the old cistern, he lifted his chin and strode confidently across the stone path around the edge of the room. Water had gathered in a pool in the center of the space, forming a natural barrier from the door to the bar at the far end of the room.

It was far busier and more populated than he'd expected. For a location that was supposed to be such a secret, the Guild seemed to be doing very well for itself. Along the borders of the water, several merchants had set up shop in alcoves set into the walls. There was even a full smithing suite toward the back.

A tall, blond Imperial man stood menacingly by the wooden ramp leading past him. His strong arms were crossed over his chest, and he assumed a bored facial expression while he pretended Twigs wasn't there.

"Hello there," he greeted the guard, his tone cautiously friendly.

The man blinked and looked down at him. "What do you want?"

_Great, another chatty type. _"I have business with the Guildmaster, and I was told to find him down here," Twigs bluffed.

The Imperial scoffed. "Right. Well, since even _we_ don't see him much these days, you're outta luck, friend."

Twigs considered his options, taking a deep breath in through his nose. "Then can I leave my message with someone close to him?"

"Sure, buddy. You can leave it with me." The man held out a meaty hand.

"I'm sorry, I was instructed by the client to leave it with one of the Guildmaster's inner circle."

The bodyguard scowled and straightened up from leaning against the wooden railing. "Are you saying I'm not in the inner circle?"

"You know bloody well you're not in _anyone's_ inner circle, you thick bastard," came a quiet, masculine voice from behind the man.

The Imperial's face lost its hostility, and he sounded almost sheepish when he turned around. "Got a bit of trouble here, Delvin, nothing I can't handle."

Delvin walked around the guard and gave Twigs an appraising look. "Take no offense, but you don't look like you could give a butterfly any trouble."

Twigs smiled. "No offense taken."

"I think I can take it from here, Dirge," Delvin said sarcastically, clapping the guard on the shoulder. "Go back to inspectin' the dirt under your fingernails or whatever it is you do."

Dirge flushed and turned away from the pair, studiously avoiding looking at Twigs.

The older man, who had hair shorn even closer than Twigs did, looked up at him. "Did I hear you say you were hired to deliver somethin' to the Guildmaster?"

Twigs nodded. "Of a sort. I was directed to speak with him about something he may find very interesting."

Delvin mulled that over for a moment, searching Twigs' face like he was looking for an answer there. "All right. I might be willin' to hear you out. I reckon this involves quite a bit of gold, or a tip-off of some kind, eh?"

He followed the older man as he led him into the makeshift bar that Dirge had been guarding. A merrily crackling fire provided the main source of light, placed in a concave dwelling behind the long counter that served as the bar. A tall man wearing an apron wiped the wood down, casting furtive, curious glances to Twigs.

Delvin led him to a table and gestured for him to sit. Twigs took the chair that would allow him to see the rest of the space as he talked. A petite woman with hair so blond it was nearly white was leaning not far from them, ignoring them the same way Dirge had.

"So, what is it that I can do for you today, son?" Delvin said, leaning back in his chair.

Twigs began without preamble, noticing that Delvin's no-nonsense attitude would not be receptive to sweet-talking. "When I was in need of warriors, I was pointed toward the Companions, in Whiterun. This time, I'm in need of a thief, and I was pointed to Riften for that."

Delvin gave a slight smile that didn't extend to his eyes. "Well, you've certainly come to the right city for that. Have you got a job for us?"

"Yes, but it's not the kind that you usually go for, I imagine."

"I'm all ears," Delvin encouraged him.

This was where it got difficult. He led first with the money, hoping that would catch the thief's attention. "The client I represent is offering a fee of twenty-five thousand septims per week to a member that will join his expedition."

It seemed that every other person in the Ragged Flagon was all ears as well. The man behind the bar dropped his broom with a clatter on the bricks, the blond woman turned her head toward Twigs with her mouth parted in shock, and even Dirge turned to look over his shoulder.

Delvin stared at him, stunned. He opened his mouth to say something, but the blond thief stomped toward Twigs, her eyes focused on him.

"Twenty-five _thousand_ septims a week?" she demanded. She leaned over the table, both hands planted firmly on the wooden surface.

Twigs could not help but feel a little intimidated at her sudden intensity. Delvin noticed and put a gentle hand on her waist. "C'mon, darlin'. You're scaring the poor sod. Ease up."

She reluctantly stood up and paced closer to Delvin, but she folded her arms and watched Twigs.

Delvin chuckled. "Sorry about that, mate. My wife is passionate about what she does."

"I'd be passionate about anything for twenty-five thousand septims," she observed dryly.

"If my keen hearing did not deceive me, I believe I heard you mention the word 'expedition,'" Delvin prompted.

"Uh, right." Twigs drummed his fingers nervously on the table. "My line of work as an explorer often attracts wealthy men and women willing to pay to fund trips for me to recover things for them. Historical artifacts, lost or rare items, things of that sort."

"So you're a thief as well," the woman stated.

He frowned slightly. "No. I'm an explorer."

"I'm assuming those 'historical artifacts' and 'rare items' don't exactly _belong_ to you, do they?" She lifted a slim brow at him.

Twigs flushed. That had never really occurred to him. "Well…no one has ever tried to arrest me for what I do. And I would never take anything protected or sacred, so—"

"Relax, kid." She waved a hand at him. "You do know the company you keep here, don't you? I'm just giving you a hard time."

"Vex, my love, you'll give the boy a stutter." Delvin patted her hip.

She smirked down at him.

Delvin turned his head to him again. "Now, you've waved quite the steak to the wolves, here. We're going to need more details."

"I was told, while assembling the team, that I would be in need of a thief to accompany the expedition. They wouldn't be expected to fight against anything we might run into, but their talents would come in handy. Picking locks and doors, that kind of thing."

The other man nodded. "True, that. Where would you be taking this thief, should you find one?"

Twigs resisted the urge to lick his lips. "We would first be traveling through a dwarven ruin. This is largely where the kind of skills you possess would be useful."

Delvin exchanged a look with his wife.

"And where would you be going after the ruin?" Vex asked.

"Hopefully, the journey after the ruin would take less than a week, and we have a very experienced guide—" he started.

She immediately latched onto his method of trying to avoid the question and cut him off abruptly. "I asked you where you intend to go."

He looked down briefly, steeling himself, and then looked up at both Delvin and Vex. "My client seeks something of great power in Blackreach."

Just like that, the tense, anticipatory atmosphere in the Ragged Flagon dissipated. The barkeep to his right snorted, turning back to his duties. Delvin sat back, disappointment plain in his eyes. Vex tossed her head back with a spiteful cackle.

"_Blackreach?_" she repeated. "Gods. Dirge, show this idiot out."

Looking all too eager to obey her, the massive Imperial walked toward him, cracking his knuckles.

"Wait." Twigs raised his hands. "That's it? You don't want to hear any more?"

Delvin looked as if he pitied him. "I admire your enthusiasm, lad, but you don't know what you're askin'. Some of us here may be skilled enough to make it through a Dwarven ruin without losing a finger or two, but Blackreach? Every man, woman, and child in Skyrim has heard those nightmare stories."

"My guide, the captain of the expedition, has been there multiple times without a scratch," Twigs argued. "I'm confident that with him along, we have a fighting chance at this."

Vex just shook her head, her short hair swaying.

Dirge took hold of his upper arm, none too gently. "Time to go, buddy."

Dejectedly, Twigs pushed back from the table and stood up. As he started to leave, he noticed another thief that had drifted over to watch the interaction. She was a dainty Redguard with hair swept back from her face, but her looks were not what made Twigs do a double take.

"That's the same kind of armor Aldric was wearing," he muttered in confusion.

Dirge suddenly came to a stop and released Twigs' arm. The Imperial looked behind him in confusion, and Twigs turned to see Delvin and Vex staring back at him.

"What did you say?" Vex said, coming toward him.

Delvin pushed up from his seat, and once again, Twigs noticed that he had the attention of everyone present. Had he said something bad?

"Uh… I just meant to say that I've seen someone wearing that kind of armor before," he stammered, gesturing to the dark-haired thief.

"I heard that part." Vex peered into his eyes. "What was the name you said?"

"Aldric?" he repeated, bewildered. "He's one of you, I suppose. I wonder why he told me to find a thief without telling me to come here, though…"

Delvin looked at the Redguard woman, and then at Vex. "He's one of us, all right. He the one that gave you a list of people to look for?"

"Yes." Twigs took a small step away from Dirge, who was doing his best to loom. "He's agreed to be the captain of the expedition," he fibbed.

Delvin and Vex exchanged yet another long, silent, cryptic glance.

"Take him to Bryn," Vex murmured.

Delvin turned away from Twigs, pulling his wife with him. They spoke in low undertones, obviously trying to hide something from him. It lasted for a moment, and he looked away respectfully.

"All right, son." Delvin gestured to Twigs. "Follow me. I think there's someone you need to speak to."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Thank you for the favorites and follows. I'm glad to see people taking an interest in the story. And seriously, thank you so much for your reviews. They are absolutely invaluable feedback to me, and they help inspire me to keep up what I'm writing and where I'm taking this.

Leetle bit of angst in this chapter.

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**Chapter 7**

Glancing over his shoulder, Brynjolf dipped between a few bushes and unlatched a small chest; above it, on the wooden beams of the house, was emblazoned an etching of the Guild symbol. Inside, he found a small leather bundle of lockpicks, a quiver of Elven arrows, and a sizable pouch of gold.

"Not a bad haul," he commented quietly. Then he closed the cache and moved on without taking anything. Younger, poorer thieves would be in need of the little stash some day.

After a bit of flirting, the innkeeper, Hulda, had pointed him in the direction of the modestly sized home not far from the gates. Breezehome, it was called. Brynjolf considered the structure with a critical eye. He could see Aldric living there.

He removed his hood and tucked it into his belt. Before he could change his mind, he strode up to the door and gave it a couple of firm knocks.

A pretty, young blond woman answered it. Brynjolf didn't miss a beat, and grinned down at her. "Well, well. I do believe you are exactly what most men hope for when a door is opened for them."

She placed a fist on her hip, a brow cocked at him. "Am I, now? And who have I opened the door for?"

His eyes ran up and down her for a second before answering. Her low-cut blue dress did wonders to show off the curves of her petite body. "My name, lass, is Brynjolf. May I have the pleasure of yours?"

Smiling a little, she opened her mouth and was about to respond, before a loud clunking behind her interrupted. She turned, murmuring a complaint, and then the door was wrenched open wider and she was gone.

Aldric stood in her place, clearly roused from a leisurely afternoon nap. His hair was tousled and he was dressed in only his trousers. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"That's not very friendly."

"Yes, well, _we're_ not very friendly," Aldric snapped.

The red-haired thief sucked in a long breath, trying to pull patience from the air itself. "Can I come in for a moment?"

Aldric looked as if he wanted to tell him no, but after a few seconds he stood back from the threshold. "Fine."

Holding back a sarcastic remark, Brynjolf walked past him into the house. It was an inviting, warm little place. Everything was very neatly arranged, and though the house was small, it didn't lack for coziness.

He took the liberty of seating himself in a chair by the fire. Still sulking, Aldric took the one next to him and slouched, staring at him.

Brynjolf observed him. Though he and Aldric were close in age, he'd been with the Guild far longer than the other man had, and he'd been the one to recruit and mentor him—though Aldric had proven to need little guidance from him.

And now, he was his superior. However angry Aldric still was with him and Karliah, he was still the Guildmaster. He reminded himself of these things before proceeding.

"Are you going to say anything?" Aldric grumbled rudely. "Or are you just going to stare at me all day?"

A muscle in Brynjolf's jaw jumped. The person he saw before him uncomfortably reminded him of the person he'd met years ago when he recruited him. Aldric had been just about as unsavory as he was now.

"Don't be childish, please," he said, unable to resist. "This visit will go a deal smoother if we act like adults."

Aldric bristled. "Don't presume to tell me how to act, Brynjolf."

He merely looked at him.

To his credit, Aldric flushed a little and looked away. "Fine. What did you come for today?"

Brynjolf crossed one leg over the other. "You're a smart man, Aldric. You know why I'm here."

"There is a vast multitude of reasons why you could be here, Bryn." Aldric stumbled at the very end of his sentence, like he was regretting using the nickname.

"True," he allowed. "Let's start with one. What in Oblivion do you think you're doing, taking that little boy into Blackreach?"

Aldric scoffed. "Twigs is not a little boy. He's young, but he's got a long resume under his belt. He knows what he's doing."

"He most certainly does _not_ know what he's doing," Brynjolf shot back. "None of the people he's trying to assemble for his little team do. His client doesn't know what he asks. In fact, the only person who _does_ know what they're doing is you."

"That's right," Aldric snapped. "I know what I'm doing."

"And you might be the only person alive right now that's made it out of Blackreach with their skin intact, more than once." He shook his head in disbelief. "And you honestly think that boy can do _anything_ as well as you can?"

Stubbornly, Aldric nodded. "Without me, no. I don't think he would have a chance. With me, he does."

"And what about all the other men and women he's bringing along?" Brynjolf asked. "You might be able to keep them alive in the ruins, but once you reach the cavern, you're not going to be able to keep them from soiling their pants, much less dying."

Aldric's laugh was ugly and sharp. "You have been to Irkngthand, Brynjolf, and you think that makes you an expert on dwarven ruins, much less Blackreach?"

"It makes me a sight more qualified than that poor chap you've fooled into thinking you can keep safe."

"Is that what this is about?" Aldric stared back at him, his eyes slightly widened. "You want to come along on the expedition?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." He sat back in his seat. "I've already settled the matter with Twigs."

He was taken aback when Aldric suddenly stood. "No."

"Contact him yourself, if you'd like. The deal is set."

Aldric paced like a caged lion. "Have you made it your mission in life to torment me?"

"That's what you think I'm doing?" Brynjolf narrowed his eyes. "You mean to tell me that you've spent the last four years thinking I have intentionally set out to hurt you in everything I do?"

"Should I have?"

"Aldric." Brynjolf fought for composure. "We talked about this, many times. You made your views known, and Karliah and I listened to them. The visits stopped once we realized how badly it was hurting you."

"How many times do I have to repeat myself?" Aldric thundered. "I don't care that Lilly was visiting with you! I care that you arranged everything with Rory behind my back for two years! _Two years_, Brynjolf! I would have given anything—I still would—to _talk_ to her for even a moment, and you kept it a secret from me!"

Brynjolf forced his face to be calm and still, unnerved by Aldric's sudden display of rage. Each time they had argued about this, he'd always managed to keep himself contained.

All at once, it seemed that Aldric realized the extent of his outburst. He gave Brynjolf his back and crouched on the ground, fisting his hands in his hair. He stayed like that, head bent, for a long moment.

"I'm sorry, Aldric," Brynjolf finally said. "Lilly was only a girl, and she formed a connection to Karliah and I. Nocturnal knows I wish that she hadn't—it would have been easier for everyone involved; you, me, Karliah, Rory. But she was only nine years old. I didn't have it in me to turn her away because of something her sister did."

Aldric was silent.

He watched his friend, sorrow filling him. "Once we realized how it was tearing you apart, we spoke with Rory, told her it had to stop. And she understood. Once she was aware that you knew, she took the initiative to pull back."

"Because she was afraid that I would track her down or intercept her, once I knew."

"No, Aldric. She cried. She cried for you when we told her how much pain you were in," he told him.

Slowly, Aldric turned around to look at him. Brynjolf was surprised to see that his eyes were glassy. "She did?"

"Yes."

"Was it guilt?"

Brynjolf thought back on the memory of that night, three years ago. "No, Aldric. It wasn't guilt. I've never seen anyone cry like that before simply because they felt guilty. That was pain like yours."

He turned to Brynjolf, but didn't rise from the floor. Instead, he sat down and folded his legs. "Then why doesn't she come to me?"

"I can't say, lad." Brynjolf wished he could take some of Aldric's grief, if it would help him feel better. "You still haven't figured it out?"

"No," Aldric bit out. "I've driven myself crazy dwelling on it. The only thing I have been able to think of that makes any sense at all is that she wasn't able to handle what happened. Something inside of her must have broken."

A long time ago, Brynjolf had helped him when he joined Rory to kill vampires that had been hunting her and her sister, Lilly, for years. They had ended up battling at Snowpoint, a werewolf territory in the mountains of Winterhold. Someone in the pack had betrayed them, and it had not gone well. Rory had left immediately after killing the man responsible.

They sat there for a long while, not saying anything. Aldric had his eyes closed, and Brynjolf wondered if he was praying. Which god, which Divine, which daedric prince would he hold faith in? Was it Talos? Was it Hircine? Another, or none of them?

Almost quietly enough to go unnoticed, the blond came pattering down the stairs behind Brynjolf. She didn't look at either of them as she opened the door and ran outside, but both men caught that her face was streaked with tears.

"Damn it." Aldric dropped his head into his hands.

"She didn't know about Rory?"

"Carina knew that I had been with someone who hurt me before I met her. I never spoke about Rory, though." He looked tired suddenly. "I suspect she's read my journal a time or two."

Brynjolf was surprised. "You keep a journal?"

"I _kept_ a journal. Not any longer."

"I see. Have things with Carina been serious?" he asked.

Aldric shook his head. "No."

He gestured to the door. "She seems to think so."

"She's half my age." Aldric laughed humorlessly, looking at the door. "I think she thought I would marry her, forget about Rory."

"Might not be a bad idea," Brynjolf suggested delicately. "Start a new life with Carina."

Another long, quiet moment passed.

"You still cannot come with me," Aldric said at last.

"If you hadn't been so bloody secretive about it, I probably wouldn't have been interested at all," Brynjolf pointed out mildly. "But you know me—always wanting what I can't have."

"I am serious, Bryn." Aldric pushed to his feet, trying to look authoritative. "I don't want you coming along."

"Then you'll have to explain that to Twigs and his client."

"This is precisely the reason I didn't tap into my own circle of friends to fill out the team." Aldric paced, his frustration obvious. "I do not want to have to worry about people I care about getting killed."

"Might I ask you a question?"

"What?"

Brynjolf frowned a little. "Why did you not simply propose to Twigs that you go alone with him into Blackreach? You'd only have to watch out for the boy and take care of yourself. I daresay you'd be in and out very quickly, with your abilities."

Aldric scrubbed his hands over his face tiredly. "Because I hate being the Dragonborn. I hate it, Brynjolf. I never asked for the weight of this world's problems on my shoulders." He spoke harshly, words scraping past lips that were tight against his teeth. "My duties have been fulfilled. It's over, and I wish every single person would forget about who I am."

Brynjolf watched his friend, unable to push back the shock he felt. Aldric had never once talked about what he was, save for his initial confession in the depths of Irkngthand. He and Karliah had both instinctively avoided talking about it since then.

Aldric's eyes flicked to him, and then back down at the floor. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." Brynjolf thought he sounded embarrassed.

"You shouldn't hate what you are, Aldric."

Aldric's head snapped up, his eyes hot with anger. "How _dare_ you quote her words to me?"

"Whose words?"

He stood very still, looking down at Brynjolf. "Rory. That was something she said many times. That no one should hate what they are."

"I apologize for prodding an open wound, but that's not what I intended. I simply meant what I said," Brynjolf told him. "I know you didn't choose this, but it's who you are. Railing against it, hating it, won't change that."

"It's not who I am!" Aldric snarled. "It's _what_ I am. I am not defined by a mystical power that I knew nothing about for nearly thirty years of my life. _I_ choose who I am!"

"No one is telling you that you don't." Brynjolf was careful to keep his voice from holding pity.

"This never should have been given to me." Aldric turned and walked the length of the floor again. "It should have been given to someone with more worth."

"I am about to say something that may greatly offend you," Brynjolf warned, "but it needs to be said nevertheless. For the past five years, you've had your own head up your arse. Many people genuinely love and care about you, and just because one woman didn't does not mean you are worthless. The time has come for you to return to your life. There is a difference between being alive and living, and lately you haven't done much of the latter."

Aldric's back was to him, but Brynjolf could see that his hands were bunched into fists. His shoulders rose and fell with his heavy breathing. Brynjolf didn't have the wolf's senses the way Aldric did, but he could almost smell the rage.

"And that's all I'm going to say on the matter." He brushed invisible dust from his knee.

The tense set of his muscles suddenly relaxed, and Aldric turned his head to look at Brynjolf. "I didn't mean to let you see that. I shouldn't… say things like that."

He shrugged. "After all you did, I'd rather like to think you're entitled to a few tantrums."

Aldric stood and breathed a sarcastic chuckle, but his faint half-smile lingered. "Nothing a few near-death experiences shouldn't cure."

"Well, with my astonishingly broad spectrum of talent involved, we should be able to keep everyone alive," Brynjolf mused jokingly.

"You've made your point." Aldric crossed his arms over his bare chest. "We've reconciled. Now go back to Riften and stay there."

"If you try to keep me out of this, I will tell that boy and his rich client that you are a delusional, out-of-shape drunk who aims to swindle them," Brynjolf threatened merrily.

Aldric's mouth dropped open a little. "You wouldn't."

"Twenty-five thousand septims seems to be exactly my price." He grinned and smoothed out the wrinkles in his trousers. "And you should blame yourself for infecting me with the need for a little adventure every now and then. Before I ever met you, I was perfectly content lifting a necklace here, and a coin purse there. Now, it seems as if life gets rather dull if I'm not slaying vampires or diving in massive, deadly caves every few years."

He fought it for a moment, but a small grin made its way across Aldric's face. "It's fun though, isn't it?"

"Aye."

"And I'm not out of shape," Aldric said suddenly.

Brynjolf snorted, but it was true. He put on a good front of being a nasty recluse these days, but Brynjolf suspected Aldric still kept up his training and skills.

"But you _are_ a delusional drunk."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I've been very excited to introduce this OC!

This chapter is for Jessi, who, incidentally, is a brat.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Twigs was still amazed that he'd been able to put the team together in just a month. Incredibly enough, Aldric's tips about recruiting had worked. If he just acted disgusted with everyone, _they_ tried to impress him, not the other way around. He wondered why he hadn't stumbled upon that tactic before.

Aldric had responded promptly to his letter, telling him to meet him at his home. At first he had intended to bring the entire team with him to Whiterun, but he quickly realized how impractical that was. Still, he had been directed to bring the thief he had recruited with him, which secretly did not bother him in any way.

When he made his way to Aldric's home, he was taken aback to see a tall, red-haired Nord man answer the door.

"Brynjolf?" he asked in surprise.

"Ah, young Twigs," the older thief said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorjamb. "Good to see you again."

"Same to you," he stuttered, looking past him as Aldric approached.

"Make the journey all right?" Aldric asked.

He nodded. "It was uneventful. You decided to recruit Brynjolf?"

Aldric looked at the thief. "That decision was made for me. I don't blame you, though, you had no way of knowing he should have kept his big nose out of it."

"Oh." Then he frowned. "What?"

The sly smile that was starting to spread across Brynjolf's face was not encouraging.

Aldric noticed it. "You lying bastard. You didn't set anything up with him at all, did you?"

Brynjolf casually walked further into the house. "You're like a small, difficult child, Aldric. Better dealt with when offered sweet lies and candy."

The other man followed him, his neck starting to redden. "Goddammit, Bryn."

Twigs looked around, realizing he'd been forgotten, and then walked into the house, shutting the door behind him. "Does this mean I should speak to the thief I've already signed on? She won't be happy that she's not getting paid…"

"I assume she's not from the Guild?" Brynjolf asked, helping himself to a bottle of mead in the kitchen.

He shook his head. "No. Now I see why everyone at the Guild turned me away. Wouldn't want to horn in on your territory, right?"

Brynjolf gave him a conspiratorial wink. "Right. If your thief isn't one of mine, she'll back off when she realizes who I am. I can send a nice little coin purse her way for the trouble, though. Bit of a finder's fee."

"That's gentlemanly."

Aldric was still watching the thief with a tight jaw. "It'll serve you right if you get your ass handed to you by a Centurion, you know that?"

"There are Centurions in Blackreach?" Twigs blurted. He flushed when both men turned to look at him, and then each other. He was getting tired of the way people tended to exchange glances before answering him.

"Yes," Aldric said after a second. He handed a bottle of mead to Twigs before uncorking his own. "You don't remember when I told you that?"

"Now I do," he admitted. "How functional is the dwarven technology in Blackreach? The Falmer haven't eliminated every threat to them yet?"

Aldric raised a dark brow while he took a long guzzle. "That's the thing. Dwarven traps and automatons reset themselves after a set period of time. Even in Blackreach."

Before Twigs could ask another question, a knock sounded on the door. He turned around to look at it, frowning.

"I thought you told your thief we were meeting at the Mare," Aldric said.

"I did."

Aldric made his way to the door, and Twigs trailed him.

Three unfamiliar men were revealed to be waiting on the steps of Breezehome. The man in front was dressed in commonplace clothing, a tunic and belted trousers. A long, awful scar ran across his face. Behind him, the other two were outfitted for more action; one in shoddily repaired leather, and the other, heavy steel.

The man in front piped up with an unfriendly voice. "You Aldric?"

Twigs looked at Aldric nervously. The trio was obviously up to no good.

Aldric took his time, draining his mead before answering. "Depends on who asks."

The scarred man snickered, looking back to the two behind him. The one in leather piped up with, "We've been hired to fix your manners."

Twigs lurched back from the door as the scarred man lashed out with his fist, aiming for Aldric's face. Aldric blocked it with his forearm, and before the man could recover, he raised his other hand and brutally smashed his empty bottle of mead on the side of the man's head.

Glass tinkled against the ground, and the man with the scar dropped like a stone. Everyone looked down at him to see if he'd get up, but he didn't.

"Well, that was disappointing," Aldric said.

The other two men stood in the threshold blinking. Then the second man rushed into the house, drawing an Elven dagger. Twigs threw himself back, toward the stairs.

The dagger whistled through the air as the man slashed at Aldric's face. Moving fast, Aldric dodged each blow. Twigs noticed he had no weapon of his own, but he thought fast on his feet.

Aldric grabbed a broom leaning against the wall by the door, and snapped it in half over his knee. Taking the end with the bristles, he tossed it to the man with the dagger. Twigs' mouth dropped open incredulously when the man actually stopped what he was doing for a split second to catch it.

Aldric rammed the other end of the broomstick into his gut, and the man grunted, leaning over. The broomstick cracked into the side of his face, and he spun and hit the floor.

Hauling himself to all fours, he scrambled out the door while Aldric rained blows down on his backside with the short length of wood, yelling at him between hits.

"Nothing—wrong—with—my—manners!" He whacked him again before planting his boot in the man's back and shoving him down the steps. "You little brat!"

The man in steel armor wavered back and forth on his feet uncertainly. His eyes went to his unconscious friend, and the other one who was rubbing at the welt rising on his cheekbone.

Aldric knelt to roll the unconscious one onto his back. When the man in steel took a step forward, he raised the broomstick. "Another step, and you'll find yourself more intimate with the handle of this broom than you'd ever thought possible."

The man stayed where he was.

Pulling out a folded note from a hidden pocket somewhere, Aldric nudged the scarred man with his boot. "Take your friend and get out of here."

The one in leather spat on the cobblestones as he rose to his feet. Glaring evilly at them, he helped the other man drag their friend away, pulling him under his arms.

Aldric slammed the door shut, turning to glower first at Twigs and then Brynjolf. "Don't all help at once, thank you."

Twigs opened his mouth to apologize, but Brynjolf spoke first. "I wasn't about to interfere. That was quite entertaining." He bit into an apple with an ostentatious crunch.

Aldric blew irritably at the strands of hair hanging in his face. Then he grinned. "Did you see the look on the big one's face?"

"I don't think that poor lad will ever be able to look at a broomstick the same."

Twigs watched them laugh together, and smiled. Aldric saw him and sobered. "And what are you laughing about? You thought that was funny?"

"I—I don't—I mean—"

Aldric cut him off with a grin. "Relax. I'm only teasing."

Reddening, Twigs glanced at Brynjolf.

The thief sighed and shook his head. "You're destroying his confidence, one jest at a time."

"I am not. He can handle it."

Twigs crossed the floor to pick up the mead he'd set down. He chugged it, emptying the bottle before setting it down again. A little tipsiness couldn't hurt.

"What's the note say?"

Aldric looked down at the paper in his hand like he'd forgotten about it already. He unfolded it and scanned it briefly. "Someone named Sergius hired them."

Twigs sucked in a breath, choked on his own saliva, and launched into a violent coughing fit. Both men stared at him.

"All right there, lad?" Brynjolf asked.

He cleared his throat, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "You said Sergius?"

"You know the name?"

"He's an explorer who charges, like I do. Imperial man, about thirty. He's a nasty person, as you can see." Twigs held out his hand for the note.

"And Sergius is competing for what you aim for," Brynjolf observed insightfully.

He looked up from the note, trying to fight down the flush that threatened to crawl up his face. "It would appear so."

"You did tell me that there were rivals," Aldric acknowledged. "Sergius is braver and more foolhardy than I would have pegged him for. Having common thugs—and unimpressive ones at that—show up to try to scare me off is…"

"Petty?" Brynjolf supplied.

"Sergius doesn't have love for what he does the way I do," Twigs told them. "He is only motivated by gold. He doesn't bother to make his way through ruins gently, and he's not careful with artifacts or other ancient things. He has no respect."

Brynjolf swallowed another bite of apple. "You surprise me, Twigs. Are we to believe you have deference for the surroundings you steal from?"

He scowled. "All right, yes, Vex pointed out that I am technically stealing. But I respect the old ruins, even caves. I've seen Sergius blow ancient tombs to ash to scare off skeevers and weak draugr. He cares only for making sure the item he's after is in good condition. Nothing else is important."

"You sound as if you've worked with him before." Aldric pulled out another bottle of mead.

"I did. After my father passed, he offered to take me on as a partner of sorts. I was alone and hadn't figured out the business end of things, so I agreed." Twigs looked away. "It did not take long for me to realize that he's a foul person. He's even earned a reputation amongst female mercenaries for being one to stay away from."

Brynjolf frowned. "He forces them?"

"If he feels like he has the upper hand, yes. But once, not long after I joined him, one woman fought back. He almost lost an eye." He shook his head. "Now he won't hire women."

"That's unwise," Aldric muttered. "He'll be missing out, in that case. Many of the most skilled mercenaries available are women."

Twigs nodded his agreement. "I've hired two. The thief I brought with me is a woman."

"Bring her to Breezehome," Brynjolf said. "We can meet outside."

Twigs stood up and made for the door. "I'll get her, then."

* * *

He hadn't had the heart to talk to the woman he'd contracted, so Twigs had taken the coward's way out: letting Brynjolf explain it to her.

While he led her to Breezehome, he couldn't help but watch her. Never before had someone's looks influenced him to make a hire, but this time, that was exactly the case.

Tinúviel was a slender, small Dunmer, the top of her head making it just to his chest. Her skin was a soft, dark, gray-blue color, in shocking contrast to her fiery red hair. She wore it pulled back away from her face, a small braided twist adorning each side of her head. The tips of her elegantly pointed ears poked through the tendrils.

She was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. Even the men who looked down on Dark Elves turned their heads to follow her when she passed them. He'd spent a lot of time surreptitiously looking at her, and the word he would've used to describe her was 'delicate.'

She was fine-boned, with a long, slim nose, a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, and a small pink mouth. Whenever she turned her striking red eyes in his direction, he felt like his tongue was three times its usual size, turning his words to a garbled mess.

Tinúviel was also in possession of a fearsome temper. For a little thing, she did not hesitate to charge against targets much bigger than she was. The first night after he'd hired her, a drunken Nord twice her size had pinched her backside as she walked past him in a tavern, and she'd slammed him to the ground with the aid of a wooden chair.

He rubbed his head nervously. He wasn't sure how angry she'd be when he told her she would have to be cut from the team. Twigs wasn't happy about looking like a milkdrinker in front of Aldric, but there weren't any chairs around, so he figured her damage output would be limited.

Even now, not knowing exactly where they were going, she took point and swayed past Twigs. He had no objection, as he got to admire her narrow waist and slim hips. The brown leather pants she wore hugged her frame nicely.

When he rounded the corner of Breezehome and saw Brynjolf standing there, though, his smile vanished and something flickered in his stomach. Aldric stood next to Brynjolf, looking bored out of his mind.

Tinúviel drew up short when she saw the other thief. She was sharp, and no doubt immediately recognized Brynjolf and Aldric's Guild armor. Her red eyes flicked back and forth between him and Twigs, uncertainty on her face.

"What is this?" she asked Twigs.

He started to reply, but she turned to Brynjolf and Aldric.

"I've stayed out of Riften, haven't gone anywhere near it," she snapped. "I've stayed away from your other territories as well."

"All of the hold capitals are our territory." Brynjolf's voice was calm.

The tops of her cheeks colored as she glared back at Twigs. "Is this a setup of some sort? Pretend to hire me so you can bring me around for a beating?" She whirled back to face Brynjolf. "I didn't know the Guild had expanded, all right? I've stayed mostly to Windhelm."

Tinúviel was getting rather heated, and Brynjolf had raised his hands up to show he meant no harm. Aldric was paying attention now, watching the situation unfold.

"No one is here to hurt you, lass," Brynjolf soothed. "There was a miscommunication, and it turns out that your services aren't required for the expedition."

Her mouth popped open, forming a perfect pink 'O' of disbelief. She sputtered for a moment, and turned on Twigs. "You stupid wanker!" Her finger poked him in the chest. "I spent the last of my savings getting from Windhelm to this poor excuse for a city! I sold my home! You assured me that what I would be paid would be more than enough to make up for it!"

Twigs blushed. "I'm very sorry, Tinúviel, I was not clear with Brynjolf and he assumed that…"

"…that I'd been taken on," Brynjolf finished for him.

With a frustrated growl, she slapped Twigs' chest with both hands and then spun away from him. He rubbed his front where she'd hit him and watched her unhappily.

When he saw Brynjolf studying him curiously, Twigs blushed harder and he turned away, irritated.

"On second thought, perhaps we could use another thief along." Brynjolf rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

She narrowed her eyes. Twigs stupidly thought she was very pretty when she was angry.

"It wouldn't hurt to have you with us," the other thief continued. "After all, I will most likely be spending my time picking up after this sloppy oaf." He gestured to Aldric.

"Which is it? Yes or no?" she demanded.

"The decision lies with Twigs." Brynjolf smiled cheekily and everyone turned to him.

"Well, uh—of course I—_we_—still want you along," he stammered. He was aware that the warmth in his face had skyrocketed, and he fervently hoped his high color wasn't as bad as he suspected it was.

"If I had any other option," Tinúviel scowled, "I would tell you to go piss up a rope right now. But because I've _very foolishly_ put all my gold into this, I have no choice but to work with you."

Twigs had a feeling that if he'd been a dog, his ears would have been drooping forlornly. "I understand. It was unprofessional of me."

"That's an understatement!"

She shoved past him and stalked in the direction of the Mare, cursing under her breath.

"Young Twigs in love," sighed Brynjolf. "Such a beautiful sight."

Even Aldric's eyes were shining with a hint of a smile.

"You know, if you'd just told her the truth of what happened, she would have accepted it with hardly another word," Twigs pointed out. "You didn't have to lay all the blame on my shoulders."

"We didn't," Brynjolf agreed, "but it's such fun to watch you squirm."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Shorty for today. I'm glad you guys are liking Tinúviel!

* * *

**Chapter 9**

Carina looked down at Aldric. He lay on his back in their bed, eyes closed, still breathing hard. She still held him inside of her, having brought him to his peak only moments ago.

His fingers idly caressed her thighs on either side of his hips. Smiling, she leaned down for a kiss. The stubble on his chin scratched at her gently. His kiss deepened, but she pulled back with a gasp when he bit her lower lip sharply.

Aldric's pale blue eyes frowned up at her. Carina didn't know how many times she had told him she hated it when he used his teeth, but he managed to frequently forget.

"Sorry."

She kissed the tip of his nose. "You're forgiven." Leaning forward, she allowed him to slip out of her, and then she settled herself on his hips again. "How long will you be away?"

His eyes traced her hip, following the path his hand was taking. "Two weeks, three weeks. Perhaps more."

Carina wasn't sure how to voice her worries without insulting him. "And… you will return whole?"

Aldric gave a laugh that sounded like a scoff, and he squeezed her hip. "Yes, sweet thing. I can't say the same for the rest of them, but I will come back whole."

"Good." She pouted down at him. "Don't get killed trying to be a hero."

He glanced at her. "Of course."

None of his journals ever mentioned what his life had been like before she had met him three years ago, but she had caught many little snippets and half-finished thoughts referring to something big. Carina had pieced together the notion that somehow, some way, Aldric had been a figure of great importance to many people.

What that had been, exactly, she did not know. They never talked about it, and Aldric never entertained any conversation about his past. So she had given up trying to get anything from him.

The entire rest of the town proved useless as well, when it came to information. Not a single person she pumped for details would speak of it. It was like they had all banded together for him, something that frustrated her to no end.

He must have known that she had found his journals, because he hadn't written anything in them for at least a year. She didn't mind, because she was tired of reading about the woman in his dreams. A ghost didn't threaten Carina, but she still hated the anonymous woman.

"Do you have to go?" She couldn't resist.

He lifted her off of him, settling her gently in the bed next to him. She drew the sheets up over herself as she rolled on her side to face him.

"I want to go."

"Why?" she asked. "Don't leave me."

"Carina," he warned.

She lowered her eyes to the mattress. "I'm sorry, it's only… you've never been gone before. I'll miss you."

When she peeked up, she saw that his face had softened. "Open the drawer behind you."

She perked up. "A present?"

He snorted. "Open the drawer and find out."

Excitedly, she rose up on her knees, letting the sheet strategically fall down her naked body. The table on the right side of the bed, the side he normally slept on, was where he kept a collection of jewelry—necklaces, rings, circlets. Pulling the drawer open, however, she was confronted with a nearly empty space. Only a small item wrapped in cloth rested inside.

"What is it?"

Aldric rolled his eyes. "Do you understand surprises?"

Her fingers pulled the linen aside, and when it fell open, she stared down at the amulet in her hand. Gold inlaid with turquoise gems winked up at her, catching the candlelight.

Aldric was watching her carefully. "Do you like it?"

"It's…" she swallowed, not wanting her voice to squeak. "An Amulet of Mara."

"It is."

Carina couldn't find the words to speak. They had only spoken about this once, just after she moved into Breezehome with him. She tried not to think about that conversation, since it was the first time he had raised his voice with her.

"When I return from the ruin," he began slowly, looking at the amulet and then at her, "we can travel to Riften, if you would like."

She blinked at him. "Why not right now?"

A gravelly chuckle rolled from his chest. "I leave tomorrow with Twigs, Carina."

She looked down at the amulet, still clasped in her palm like it was the most fragile, precious thing she'd ever seen. In a way, it was. "What made you change your mind?"

Aldric picked the necklace up, releasing the catch. "After you overheard me talking with Brynjolf, something he said made me think very deeply about my life."

Carina turned, drawing her curls up to bare her neck for him. Gently, he draped the amulet around her, his rough fingers against her collarbone eliciting a shiver from her.

"I know that I should be the one to display this," he murmured against the side of her throat, "but I won't be able to wear this in the ruin."

She giggled. "Are you not worried about all the men at the inn that will see it and fall under the wrong impression?"

"They wouldn't dare." He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up to lie on top of him, pinching her sides playfully.

"And the herbs?" she asked him, lowering her voice to whisper in sultry tones. "I can stop brewing the tea?"

He hesitated for a brief moment, and she moved her hips, rubbing herself against him. He began to harden, pressed against her leg, and a little thrill of victory surged through her when he nodded his head.

_Children from him, at last._ She had already consumed the daily drink needed to prevent his seed from taking root inside of her, but as she allowed him to roll her over, his mouth all over her throat and breasts, Carina couldn't help but hope that this time would be different.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Approaching Windhelm from the south, Aldric's mood grew darker the closer they got. They would take the most obvious path to Raldbthar, along the icy waters of the River Yorgrim, and it was already resurrecting unpleasant memories. They were practically a stone's throw from the first night he'd curled up, naked and warm, next to—

Abruptly, he shook his head, forcibly trying to divert his thoughts from the path they were taking. Dwelling on the past was a good way to distract him, and distractions meant mistakes.

For now, he focused on remembering that he was angry with the Khajiit brothers. Raj and Khal, they called themselves, though Aldric suspected that they'd given false names.

Raj was the more dangerous-looking of the two. His fur was a dark, nearly black color, and his eyes shone the pure green of spring leaves. A long, jagged scar ran across the flat bridge of his nose, and three smaller claw marks decorated the spot under his right eye. Half of his right ear was missing as well.

Khal looked to have avoided the kind of damage his brother had not. Aldric wasn't sure if that was due to greater prowess or level-headedness. In any case, he did not look like Raj at all, which sparked a new suspicion in Aldric that they were not even related. Where Raj was small and dark, Khal was taller and covered in white fur striped with silver. His golden eyes were tranquil.

"For the last time," Aldric gritted out, jaw clenched, "that armor is not going to work. As the captain, I set the terms."

Both the brothers were outfitted in flawless steel plate armor. It was clearly a point of pride for the pair, as each scratch had been buffed out, each dent fixed, and each piece polished to perfection. The style of the shoulder plates spoke to an older set, but one couldn't have told that by looking at the condition.

"_Thjizzrini_," Raj muttered, waving his hand.

"This one has surely weighed the benefits of light and heavy armor," Khal said smoothly. "A dwarven ruin should not be entered without protection."

"Many dangers lurk inside, clicking and crawling," Raj added. "Steel will protect soft bodies where leather and hide will not."

"And steel will cook you alive if you're caught in a fiery trap," Aldric shot back. "You'd be steamed like fish if a Centurion cornered you."

The brothers looked at each other.

Raj smiled, showing sharp, white teeth. "You can assure us that Centurions will be a challenge to face?"

_Shor's beard_. "If you're clanking around in full plate like that, then yes. You'll wake a Centurion."

"This is acceptable," Khal replied. "Long have we wished to take on one of the contraptions." He knelt to the ground and searched inside a knapsack, pulling out a book.

Aldric took it. It was _Herbane's Bestiary: Automatons_. He shut his eyes. A copy of the book was stored on a shelf in his home in Falkreath. The tome was legendary for describing a harrowing battle the author had fought with a giant Centurion.

"Say you do make it through the city unscathed," he proposed. "What of the cavern? Sound will be your biggest problem to overcome."

Khal chuckled. "Your financier made it known that you sought warriors. Strong ones. In my brother and I, you have a double-sided coin. I am Do'Khal, Suthay-raht, born to be a fierce and capable fighter." He laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Rajhin is Suthay, born under a black sky when both moons were new. He is named after the god of stealth."

Aldric fixed him with a flat stare. "And that is somehow important enough to make a difference."

Khal opened his hand at him, as if it were obvious. "_Vaba_. It is."

"The Nords have words for this one," Raj said. "_Dar'renrij_. Thief scum mercenary."

Khal grinned at his brother. "Nords. _Hat aratataami_."

Aldric inhaled slowly through his nose, stifling his frustration. "Once we reach the cavern, we will operate as a team, but you will largely be responsible for your own hide. You mean to tell me you have no worries about losing a leg due to the sound you make?"

Raj shrugged. "_Jah eks skra'iv_. Gold fixes everything."

Brynjolf had been silent up until now, but he grinned then. "They have you there, lad."

"_Krimir_, Aldric," Khal cajoled. "Smile. _Mokoh Khajiit_. Do not worry about us."

Aldric pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Let's go."

He led the way down the road, past the bridge to Windhelm. Brynjolf walked at his side, and the two brothers followed. To their credit, they did make very little sound behind him, but the wintry sky had the tendency to feel as if it muffled the air around them.

High above the road, a Shrine of Talos looked solemnly out into the distance toward the city. Twigs waited for them underneath it, his arms folded around himself to ward off the cold. Like any Nord, he was accustomed to it, but he was also thin enough to feel the bite, even through the long-sleeved leather cuirass he wore.

Raj and Khal greeted him exuberantly, and Aldric watched, bemused, as Twigs exchanged pleasantries with them. He shook his head while the brothers teased him.

They hiked west, following the river, to where the outer structures of Raldbthar still stood. Instead of crossing the bridge to the north side of the water, Aldric kept to the south side. The first few miles were traveled in silence, with only the gentle sounds of their footfalls.

"You still will not tell me what you've been contracted to find, will you." Aldric spoke without looking at Twigs.

He could see the young man looking at him out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry. I need to be the only person worrying about what we're after. I want everyone else to concentrate on nothing but what they have been hired for."

He gave a wry smile. "A good argument, but you forget that I am the captain. You don't need to tell anyone else, only me."

Aldric thought Twigs might crack when he was silent for a moment. His internal struggle could practically be scented on the wind.

"No. I won't."

Instead of being angry, he actually admired Twigs for his resilience. It took a lot more bravery than most people were willing to admit it did, to stand up to someone older who was demanding something from you. "You're a stubborn little mouse, aren't you?"

"If I'm a little mouse, what does that make you?"

Aldric turned in surprise to him. Twigs' superior height seemed to be more imposing than usual as he looked down at him. Just when he seemed to run out of nerve, the confidence in his eyes starting to waver, Aldric barked a laugh.

"Good for you, kid, good for you."

* * *

They made it to the city in decent time. It had been a long while since Aldric had trekked a good distance—uphill through snow, no less—out in the wilds, and he was pleased to find that his stamina and speed were largely unaffected by the years that had passed.

"The others are waiting where you told me to leave them," Twigs said. "Kaspar spotted three men near the entrance. You said you've cleared this location before?"

"Bandits have short memories." He looked up at the mountainside. "Raj, Khal, follow Brynjolf and Twigs up to where the rest are gathered and wait for me."

"Where are you going?" Twigs frowned.

He pointed to the natural rock structure framing the upper and lower entrances to Raldbthar. The gray, jagged face of the mountain jutted through the otherwise snowy landscape, and already he had determined that they held suitable footholds for him. "There."

"Why?"

Aldric wanted badly to put all the blame on Kaspar for suggesting the idea, but he had accepted it, after all. "Call it a friendly competition."

Even Brynjolf didn't look pleased, but they drifted away up the steps set into the snow. Halfway up the ancient stairs, there was a wide, circular platform shielded from the patrols of the bandits by a small stone outcropping.

Kaspar met him there, his face already showing telltale signs of excitement. He grinned widely at Aldric. "You are ready to climb?"

"No," he replied, "but I'll follow you anyway."

"Do not worry. I am a natural at this." Kaspar pulled a pair of well-worn leather gloves from his belt and slipped them on, flexing his fingers.

They left the group and headed west. Kaspar stopped and faced a rather steep hillside, leading up into the mountains. Aldric could see the tops of trees further up, indicating that the ground leveled out.

Wasting no time, Kaspar dug the toe of his boot into the hard-packed snow and hefted himself up, using hands and feet to ascend. Aldric mimicked him, annoyed that his fingers went numb after only a moment or two.

After they'd reached flatter ground, Kaspar stopped him with a touch on his shoulder. He pointed ahead silently, and Aldric saw what he was looking at.

A healthy-looking frost troll had claimed the small bit of level snow for himself, patrolling his territory zealously. He ambled back and forth, grumbling and hooting as if he were talking aloud. After a few rounds, he turned his back on the two and sat himself down in the snow, contemplating the landscape ahead of him.

Kaspar darted past him, heading east for the first peak of rock to climb. Aldric rolled his eyes and followed, keeping one eye on the troll as he did.

He scowled as he watched the scout scuttle up the mountain face. The younger man was lighter and more agile than Aldric, and he felt like a cave bear chasing after a spider in comparison.

After climbing up as far as he could on the snow, he grabbed the first rock and pushed off the ground. The Blackguard boots he wore were flat on the soles, which was an advantage for silence and stealth, but lacked grip. So Aldric went slowly, wedging his feet into the gaps and fissures between the rocks.

Halfway up, he paused to judge his progress. They had passed the lower structure of Raldbthar, and he saw his team gathered far below on the platform. The wind snatched at his hair and blew fine flurries of snow into his eyes, but he was too focused to let it bother him. A fall from this height would mean more than a broken leg or arm.

He climbed until he was level with the entrance, and pushed on a little further until he could scramble on top of the old, bronze domes. Aldric stepped through the snow, aiming at the lip of one dome, and swore the second his feet made contact with the metal. It was coated in ice, and his boots lost traction immediately.

Grabbing desperately at the top of the dome, he dug his fingers into the grooves worn into the metal. The leather of his boots squealed against the cold surface, and he fought for purchase, his knee driving into the dome with a hollow _thung_.

Aldric blew out a shaky breath. "Remind me never to climb with you again," he grumbled.

Kaspar watched him with a grin. "You have alerted the lookout."

He crept over the top of the dome, slowly poking his head over the edge. The man directly below them, pacing the entrance to the ruined city, had drawn a one-handed sword and had his head on a swivel.

Kaspar pulled out his bow, a simple one used for hunting, and nocked a steel-tipped arrow. Carefully taking aim, he let out a long breath as he released the string. The arrow found a new home between the bandit's shoulder blades.

"Not bad," Aldric complimented him.

"Thank you."

There were only two other men watching the area, and Kaspar took each of them out with expert, well-placed shots.

"I'll have to tell Aela about your skill when we return," Aldric told him with a wink. Nocturnal had truly been on his side when the huntress had turned out to be away on an assignment when he stole Kaspar from Whiterun.

"Do not boast too grandly," Kaspar responded, his face going serious. "That woman's sense of competition frightens me sometimes."

He couldn't help but laugh at that. "Is that why you hunt alone, instead of with her?"

"I must!" His brows shot up. "She led us into the hills of the Reach on one trip, trying to best the shot I'd taken, and the Forsworn—"

They were interrupted by a distant shout from below. Both Aldric and Kaspar looked down. Most of the platform the team waited on was obscured, but he could pick out the tiny form of Tinúviel, standing on the edge and waving her arms. Aldric strained his ears.

"_Oi!_" she yelled again.

Twigs rushed to her side and pulled her away, bending his head in a way that suggested he was berating her.

"She is impatient," Kaspar noted.

"She wants to impress me, and Brynjolf." Aldric rose to his feet.

"That is not a bad desire."

"No, it's not."

Kaspar had the tendency to say exactly what he meant, and he observed things very honestly and plainly. On the surface, those qualities made him appear simple—almost childlike—but Aldric regularly found himself impressed at the profound nature of the things Kaspar said.

As Aldric followed him down to the surface in front of the door, he reflected on how much he'd missed the scout. The two of them had become fast friends after meeting at Snowpoint, and it wasn't hard to wonder why.

Kaspar seemed to go through life with the philosophy that he should always be as happy as possible. For him, at least, it seemed to be a conscious choice to let problems roll off his back like water from a stone. It was an infectious attitude, and it was almost impossible to be in a foul mood around Kaspar.

As they made their way back to where the rest of the team waited, Aldric noticed Kaspar idly rub at his left shoulder. Five years ago, a giant had surprised the two of them while they were running as their beasts together, and it had badly injured Kaspar. It was something that he still felt guilty about.

"Does it still pain you?" he asked.

Kaspar gave a quick tilt of his head and half-shrugged. "The cold makes it ache." Then he noticed the look on Aldric's face and quickly added, "It is not bad. Once I am warm again, it goes away."

Aldric kept his gaze ahead. "It should be warmer inside the ruins, but it won't be warm in Blackreach."

"That is what the brandy is for, eh?" Kaspar winked at him.

He smiled and bumped the scout with his forearm. "Keep that to yourself. I have a feeling Twigs would ransack your pack while we slept and dispose of it."

Aldric had told Twigs that he wouldn't drink while in the cavern, but he hadn't been entirely truthful. Blackreach demanded sharp senses and alertness, but there would be no harm in sharing a drink once in a while to take the edge off. Together, he and Kaspar had smuggled in two bottles of aged Cyrodiilic brandy, wrapped in several rolls of linen to protect them and muffle the sound of clinking glass.

Kaspar grinned. "Then in that case, I will protect my pack with my life."

They stopped talking once they'd neared the team. Brynjolf, Twigs, Tinúviel, Raj and Khal waited for them, along with two others Aldric hadn't met yet. Twigs had described them to him, though, and he studied them now.

Lyssa was a willowy archer, tall for a Bosmer, with white-blond hair falling in a long braid down her back. She must have been stronger than she looked to be able to, as Twigs put it, 'take the eye of a fox at thirty yards' with the Elven bow strapped to her back.

"Can you not afford armor?" he asked her.

The blunt question did not faze her. "I have never needed it. All my gold goes into the upkeep of my bows."

He eyed the belted tunic, simple trousers, and leather boots and gloves she wore. All typical of a hunter, and not a fighter. "And you felt comfortable enough to venture into a ruined Dwemer city and Blackreach beyond?"

She shrugged. "I'm very fast."

He left it at that and turned to the mage. "I've forgotten your name."

"Patric," he mumbled nervously. "Patric Farrand."

"Breton? College-trained?"

"Yes, sir."

Aldric smirked. "You don't have to 'sir' me," he said to the group at large. Then he pointed at Brynjolf. "Except you. You must refer to me at all times as 'sir.'"

"Oh, aye, I'll call you _sir_, all right. Right as soon as you get down on your knees and—"

Twigs loudly cleared his throat, drowning out the rest of Brynjolf's dig. Tinúviel drew her lower lip into her mouth and bit down on it, looking like she was desperately fighting a smile.

Aldric almost grinned himself, and then caught Twigs' gaze. He looked serious, his eyes holding no trace of amusement, and that sobered him. In fact, the rest of the group except for Tinúviel and Brynjolf shared a grim expression.

Raldbthar, and Blackreach, posed a very real danger to all of them—something he was reminded of once again. He felt no fear of what was to come, but he had many advantages on his side that the rest of them did not.

He knew Brynjolf suffered from an inflated sense of confidence in general, but he'd also survived Irkngthand, and he was a Nightingale. Briefly, he wondered where Tinúviel's comfort came from.

His joking mood slowly sank. He met the eyes of each person standing in front of him, turning to look at Kaspar last. The scout gave him calm, ready eyes in return.

"I have been inside Raldbthar more than once, and in Blackreach itself several times," he began. He wanted to avoid a grand speech, but the time to assert himself had come. "If any of you have been inside Dwemer ruins or caves, that experience will be valuable to you, but it counts for nothing as far as my leadership is concerned. I want to make several things very clear before we enter."

He pointed to himself. "I will be leading and in the front at all times. Raj and Khal will be right behind me, ready to deal with any threats that surface. Inside the ruin, there will be many, and sound and sudden movement will trigger them. Is that understood?"

Heads nodded.

"The spiders will not be much of a problem, but they will slash at you and some of them can deliver a nasty shock. The Spheres are the ones you will need to watch out for. They move very quickly, and fight very efficiently." Aldric gestured to Lyssa. "Even if you think you can get a clear shot, you are not to attempt to support from behind. Raj, Khal, and I will deal with them."

The brothers exchanged a quick, eager look.

Patric, who was without a doubt the most vulnerable, tentatively raised a hand. "What should we do if _we're_ attacked?"

"Brynjolf will be bringing up the rear."

"This does not insult you?" Raj asked the thief quizzically.

"Dwemer ruins aren't the only places where nasty things sneak up on you from behind," Brynjolf pointed out, "but they're certainly the most likely."

Patric paled a shade.

"Twigs, Tinúviel, Lyssa, and Patric will be in the center of the formation. If you find that a spider has escaped our attention, I invite you to defend yourselves, but you won't have to worry about the Spheres," Aldric assured them.

Lyssa's brows drew together. "So the ruin will be the easy part?"

Aldric didn't miss the way Brynjolf closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. He wanted to do the exact same. "The automatons will be a third of the worry. The other third will be traps, and the last third will be the Falmer that have encroached upon the city. I am only going to say this once—if you want to make it through Raldbthar whole, you only have to listen to me and keep your eyes open."

He could tell that Tinúviel had understood him, but Lyssa and Patric were still looking at him with confusion obvious in their eyes. The Khajiit brothers, he didn't worry much about. They were confident and experienced enough to take care of themselves.

"All right." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have not had the time or desire to train with any of you, so I have no idea how stupid you are. You're going to have to trust me. Don't do anything foolish, and we should get through this."

"Keep your eyes on the captain, and you will be fine," Kaspar added encouragingly.

Lyssa's gaze flicked to him. "Where will you be?"

"I am the scout, so I will be doing the scouting," he told her, giving her a wink.

She gave him a small, tremulous smile in return.

Aldric looked to the brothers and jerked his head to the imposing bronze doors. "Let's do this."

* * *

**A/N: **Boom! Surprise author's note at the bottom!

I did, and am continuing to do, a lot of research on Ta'agra, the Khajiit language. As you can imagine, there are many conflicting sources, even amongst those designated as "official." For any Ta'agra or lore enthusiasts, please forgive any errors you might spot. For everyone else, pretend I'm just the master at it.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Thank you all for the follows, favorites, and reviews. Especially SkyrimJunkie, who made me laugh so much this morning with her reviews for The Curse's Bounty. **Scythe**, you still rock. You know what, the whole damn bunch of you rock. I love you. Saturday love. That's what this is.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

An hour later, the group had scattered inside the cavernous room just inside the entrance to Raldbthar. Aldric, Khal, and Raj had made the first kills of the trip already—a sleeping bandit just past the doors, three inside a small corridor fashioned into living quarters, and three more that were stationed inside the great room.

Everyone had hung back to watch them work, and it had been impressive. Khal moved like his steel greatsword was part of his body, fluid and poetic, and Raj's twin steel daggers whirled and flashed, catching the light so frequently it was like watching him fight with two handfuls of fire.

Aldric's style of combat was not beautiful or awe-inspiring. In fact, Twigs found himself wincing and trying not to look away when Aldric engaged an opponent. Whether or not he was doing it on purpose, each of his kills were… messy. Before today, Twigs had never seen a man lose both legs before dying.

It had lent a jittery, nervous atmosphere to the group, and surprisingly enough Aldric had been tolerant. It took only one look at Patric's pale face, or the way Lyssa's eyelid was twitching, and he allowed a rest.

Raj and Khal were sitting in front of the fire, cross-legged on the ground. They were talking in Ta'agra, their mother tongue, and their low and excited voices carried quietly through the large chamber. Twigs figured they were rehashing the fight, if their hand gestures indicated anything.

Both of them were busily eating the meat the bandits had been roasting, and Patric was sitting in a chair near them, his plate of untouched food resting on his lap. Lyssa was pacing around the room, her braid pulled over her shoulder so that her fingers could absently stroke at it.

Twigs walked through the gate to the other side of the tall barred wall, looking for Tinúviel. He hadn't seen her in a while, and wanted to make sure that she hadn't been disturbed by what she'd seen.

She was standing in front of an open gate up a few steps, and Brynjolf was with her. Her arms were folded over her chest, and she looked rather proud. A new necklace, a silver pendant boasting a precious gem, rested around her neck. Something the older thief said made her grin widely.

"Ah, Twigs," Brynjolf greeted him as he walked up. "Doing all right?"

He nodded. "Did you unlock the gate?"

"Actually, Tinúviel did."

Twigs' brows shot up as he looked at the elf. "Really? Wasn't that lock supposed to be fairly difficult?"

Her pleased expression dissolved. "Yes, it was," she said coldly. "Impressive for a stupid Dunmer, is it?"

His ears burned. "Oh, no, that's not what I—"

Tinúviel pushed past him, rolling her eyes, and strode back the way he'd come.

"—meant," he finished lamely.

Brynjolf snickered, looking down at the floor. "You bungled that one, didn't you, lad?"

He rubbed at the back of his head unhappily. "I was trying to compliment her. Aldric said the lock was one of the hardest ones made, and it's pretty extraordinary that she cracked it. I mean," he added quickly, "considering that she's not part of your Guild."

"I know what you meant," the man assured him. "And yes, it is rather impressive. I told her that. The Guild isn't the only way for a thief to be considered a professional, but without the guidance and mentoring of more experienced rogues like myself, most of the lone wolves like Tinúviel aren't very skilled."

He looked over his shoulder, through the bars, where the elf was sniffing curiously at a cut of meat Khal handed her. "I don't think she likes me very much."

Brynjolf shrugged. "Eh, you'd be surprised."

"About what? I didn't start out well with her after what happened at Breezehome, and now she thinks that _I_ think she's not talented," Twigs pointed out forlornly.

"Twigs, I will give you a valuable piece of information that I wish I had been given when I was around your age." Brynjolf placed a hand on his shoulder. "When women truly do not like you, they don't pay any attention at all to you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Then he frowned a little. "Well, actually, sometimes they ignore you even if they _do_ like you."

"Well, then, how do you know if they don't like you?"

"Being rude is usually a rather concise indicator."

Twigs sulked. "Like Tinúviel."

Again, Brynjolf seemed to think twice. "Then again, some of them are a bit mean at first…" He stroked his chin thoughtfully, his eyes slightly narrowed as he looked off into the middle distance.

"You're making this much worse."

"Best to end this conversation right here, lad," Brynjolf told him seriously. "You're making me second-guess everything I thought I knew. Just keep doing what you're doing, and it will all work out. Or not." He patted Twigs' arm and then walked off.

Twigs turned around to glare after him.

"…what?"

* * *

Aldric and Kaspar were perched on the rickety wooden structure that served as a staircase to the second level of the space they were in. Twigs had only spent a few moments around Kaspar, but it was easy to see that he was a cheerful person, and that his attitude rubbed off on Aldric.

The man in question was cleaning the blood from his greatsword while listening to the scout tell a story. They chuckled at some joke, and then looked up as Twigs approached. Aldric instantly lost the friendly look in his eyes, but Kaspar's still held a smile as he regarded Twigs.

"Everyone done crying yet?" Aldric asked, dropping the bloodied cloth in his hand.

"No one is crying," Twigs defended.

"If that mage still has clean breeches, then you owe me a septim."

"Patric isn't a warrior," he objected. "He's a healer."

Aldric rose to his feet, hefting the greatsword in the air to sheathe it on his back. Once the blade had slid securely into place, he looked down at Twigs. "And you? I saw the way you flinched. Did I frighten you?"

He looked away, biting the inside of his lip so that he wouldn't snap at him. "No."

In truth, he wanted to berate Aldric for the way he'd fought. It hadn't seemed necessary to hack anyone into pieces, or to laugh when the youngest of the bandits tried to hide in a corner. However, it wasn't his place to criticize Aldric or give him orders.

"We will sleep here tonight," Aldric stated. "It's past sundown, and it ought to give everyone enough time to adjust to the first kills. I want everyone well-rested inside this place, and Blackreach. If that means we go more slowly than is necessary, then so be it."

He raised a hand. "I'm not arguing with you."

"Good." Aldric locked eyes with him, and Twigs couldn't tell what he was thinking. "Find a quiet spot and a clean bedroll, if you can."

* * *

He settled not far from the fire, on the other side of it so that his back was to the barred wall. A few of the others had grumbled about being made to sleep on the hard, dirty floor; Aldric had welcomed them to the beds that had been furnished in the northern part of the ruin near the entrance and the pile of bodies it sported. The mutterings ended after that.

The fire had died down, mostly, and the room they were in was quiet—as quiet as could be expected, anyway. The muffled thrumming and whooshing of Dwemer machinery sounded through the walls, and once in a while the floor beneath Twigs would vibrate.

He lay on his side, his arm stretched out under his head. He was contemplating the flickering logs when feet walked past his line of sight, startling him.

Twigs lifted his head to see Tinúviel spreading her hide bedroll over the stone floor. Then she pulled her boots and gloves off.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, and then cursed at himself. _Stupid question._

She looked at him sidelong while she nudged her gear to the top of her bedroll. "Getting ready to sleep, you dolt."

He plopped his head back onto his arm in defeat. For some reason, he never came off stupider than when she was around him. It infuriated and confused him. The idea of how to get her to be interested in him the same way he was interested in her completely eluded him. It was like being sixteen all over again.

Jingling buckles and the sound of leather rasping drew his attention again, and he rolled his eyes upward just in time to see Tinúviel pull off her cuirass. Underneath, she wore a tunic made of cotton so thin that he could see her dark skin beneath it.

A small voice in his head was yelling in alarm that staring was dangerous, but it was too late. Most of his brain had already shut down. He'd caught a glimpse of her small, pert breasts underneath the tunic—her nipples were hard, straining at the fabric.

When he realized he was beginning to stiffen, Twigs dragged his gaze away from her and stared back into the fire, his heart beating faster. Ahead of him, he heard rustling and soft mutterings from her as she settled herself into her bedroll. Once a moment of quiet had passed, he craned his neck up again, daring another glance at her.

Tinúviel's head rested on her folded arm, like his. Her hair fell over her bare shoulder and collarbone prettily. Then suddenly he noticed that her ruby-red eyes, glittering in the firelight, were looking right at him.

Mortified, he immediately turned away and rolled to his other side without a word. He sank down, wanting to fade away into Oblivion at that moment. Twigs was fairly certain the expression in her eyes was knowing, as if she were totally aware that he'd been looking at her with less than respectful thoughts.

He almost thought he was safe, until her smooth voice rang out with, "See something you like?"

Twigs squeezed his eyes shut. _Damn it._ "I'm sorry," he said over his shoulder.

"What are you sorry for?" A hint of teasing colored her words. She was enjoying his embarrassment, he was certain of it.

"For looking at you."

She gave a quiet laugh. Despite his humiliation, he was aware that it was the first time he'd heard her laugh. He liked it. It was low and husky… and arousing.

"Well, you've had an eyeful," she murmured. "In the interest of being fair, I think it's my turn to get a peep."

"What are you talking about?" he grumbled, finally rolling to face her.

His frown disappeared when he saw her. She was still on her side, but her hand jauntily propped up her head. Her bedroll had been pulled down around the curve of her waist. No attempt was made at shielding her chest from his view again.

Tinúviel's eyes were heavy-lidded as she watched him watch her. "You heard me. It's my turn. Take off your tunic."

"Ah…" He looked around helplessly. On the other side of the fire, Patric and Lyssa were sleeping soundly, the mage softly snoring. Aldric, Kaspar, and Brynjolf had bedded down for the night on the platform above them all. Raj and Khal had taken the dead bandit's beds near the entrance. "Are you serious?"

She blinked at him calmly. "Do I look serious?"

Twigs swallowed. "Yes."

"Then do it."

Heart hammering, he sat up and cast another furtive look around. Then he reached up behind his neck, grabbing a fistful of his tunic, and yanked it over his head in one movement. He pushed to a kneeling position and faced her.

Tinúviel's eyes dropped to his torso, roving all over him. He tried not to self-consciously cave his shoulders inward, instead forcing his back to stay straight. He was a Nord, but didn't sport the thick muscle or body hair that most of his countrymen did. The surface of his chest, his stomach, and his arms were well-toned, but not beefy. He had no real chest hair to speak of, possessing only a thin trail of light-colored, downy hair trailing south from his navel.

He wondered if Tinúviel liked his body. She was certainly staring at him long enough. Just when he started to think she might hold a spark for him after all, she looked back up into his eyes and then tossed her head back with a cackle.

"Gods," she crowed, settling onto her back before she rolled over. "I cannot believe you actually did it." She laughed again to herself, pulling the cover up over her shoulders.

Twigs sat back on his haunches, angrily pulling his tunic back over his head. He shoved himself back into his bedroll and jerked the cover up to his ears, glowering ferociously at a pebble in front of him.

_Women._


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

He never would have thought it possible, but Twigs had actually fallen into a deep sleep the first night inside Raldbthar. This was made excruciatingly obvious when Aldric rudely shoved him onto his back with a boot, jerking him awake.

"Wake up."

Twigs groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Mnnff."

Air moved around him, and Aldric's voice was much closer. "Your sweetheart is missing."

_That_ rocketed him to alertness. His eyes flew open and he sat up, almost headbutting Aldric, who had crouched next to him. He nearly dumped his bedroll into the remains of the fire in his haste to scramble to his feet.

Tinúviel's spot from the night before was empty. Everything she'd laid out was gone. Even her bedroll had been taken.

Part of him was relieved; that meant she'd packed up her things and taken off of her own volition, instead of being dragged off by the Falmer in the middle of the night. The other part of him was not any less worried, because that still meant that she was alone somewhere in the ruin.

"How likely is she to disobey orders and run off by herself?" Aldric asked him.

He thought about Tinúviel and her fiery, rebellious nature. "Likely enough."

Lyssa had drifted over to them. "How do you know she went further in?" she questioned. "Perhaps she left Raldbthar."

Brynjolf made his way down the wooden ramp, the structure creaking in protest with each step he took. "Because the lass swiped the key to the door from me."

"She pick-pocketed _you_, of all people?" Aldric was disbelieving. "What, did you have it around your neck?"

"I think Tinúviel might be a more talented thief than any of us could have guessed," Brynjolf said dryly. He patted his rear. "It was in the back pocket of my trousers, and I was wearing them."

"Don't get excited about it," Aldric snapped. "You need to focus on the problem at hand."

"Excited about what?"

"Recruiting her! I see that glint in your—where do you think you're going?" Aldric broke off, yelling after Twigs.

He had secured his knapsack to his back and picked up his bow, setting off at a fast stride to the door. "Going to find her."

Before he could reach the huge set of doors, movement registered to his left in the shadows. Raj was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and he straightened upon seeing Twigs.

"_Mokoh roiiliten dek_," Raj told him.

Khal was right next to him, like always. "Do not worry about your girl's disappearance."

Sometimes, he found it eerie that they spoke like that—one in Ta'agra, and the other repeating the translation.

Twigs stared at them in outrage. Before he could sputter what he was thinking, a heavy hand clasped his shoulder and pulled him around.

Aldric stood behind him, looking fierce. "I have lost one person already, and I am not about to lose another. You will not go in there alone."

"We're not going to look for her at all?" he demanded angrily.

"When the rest of them," Aldric gestured behind himself with a thumb, "are ready to move on, then we move on. Either we'll find her alive, or we'll find her body."

"Tinúviel is a _person_, Aldric." Twigs fought very hard to keep himself from yelling.

"And she made a choice to ignore orders and run off alone into a dwarven ruin," Aldric shot back.

"Would it be different if she'd been kidnapped by Falmer?"

The blank look on Aldric's face was all the answer he needed.

"Get out of my way. I'm going to find her."

He lifted a brow. "Alone."

"If I have to, yes."

"Ha!" Raj gave a jeering laugh. "_Jer vakasash teorikah ri'sallidad_."

Twigs glared fiercely at the mercenary. "No one can understand you!"

"Raj is right," Khal said, looking at Twigs with surprise. "You wish to be the concerned martyr."

"Enough," Aldric commanded, his voice lowering an octave. "That is enough. Raj, Khal, come with me. We're going to search the immediate area behind those doors. If she's not there, we return to the group and move on."

"And me," Twigs insisted stubbornly.

Instead of turning him down, as he'd expected, Aldric considered him for a moment. "Fine."

The brothers looked at each other, and then Khal unsheathed his sword. "Very well."

Raj shook his head, still watching Twigs with an expression of disgust mixed with admiration. "Fool."

Twigs ignored him and turned away.

Aldric yelled over his shoulder. "Bryn, keep them here. We'll be back shortly."

He stepped forward and placed a hand on the door. It occurred momentarily to Twigs that Tinúviel could have locked the doors behind her, using the key.

Aldric pushed on the door, and it gave easily. Twigs relaxed, and followed the Khajiit brothers as they trailed Aldric through the passageway. His hunting bow went onto his back when he realized he would be next to no help with it, compared to the three men ahead of him with their weapons.

Almost as soon as they had stepped forward and rounded the corner, there was a sudden whir of machinery. Not ten paces from Aldric, a small, circular trap in the wall spiraled and opened, depositing a large metal ball onto the floor.

"Sphere!" Aldric warned, tightening his grip on his greatsword.

Steam hissed from crevices in the ball, and it rolled smoothly toward the sound of Aldric's voice. Suddenly, the metal plates it was crafted from cracked open, and a tall figure began to uncurl from the ball.

Twigs had not forgotten what the Spheres looked like, though it never failed to surprise him how the Dwemer had tried to craft them to resemble their creators. It shook out arm-like appendages, each tipped with weapons, and slim metal legs connected it to the rolling device it was named for that served to move it forward.

It lurched toward Aldric, its frozen metal face impassive. A dart-like bolt fired from its crossbow, whizzing past Aldric's head. He dodged it, jumping to the right, and struck out with his sword.

The blade bit deeply into one of its legs, and the Sphere stumbled. Khal was there like magic, and he braced his feet to send his greatsword sweeping upward. The arm that held the crossbow tore from the Sphere with a shrill screech, and gears rained to the floor.

From behind, Aldric's sword cleaved it in half, separating it at the small, vulnerable joint of its upper body to its legs. It collapsed, and the round shell of the mechanical wheel spun past Twigs.

"Not so challenging," Raj commented, kicking at a lever at his feet.

"If you keep a level head, no," Aldric agreed. "They're aggressive, and they're fast, and you'll be in trouble if more than one comes at you."

Twigs saw what Aldric meant by that when they passed into the next chamber of the ruins. After easily dispatching a spider, Raj triggered another Sphere trap. Both brothers stepped forward to deal with it, and then a second automaton came rolling toward Aldric from behind.

It unfolded at once and began hacking and hammering at Aldric with the sharp blade of its right arm. He knocked aside each blow with his greatsword, but for each step backward he took to allow himself time to take the offensive, it pressed forward and swung at him again.

Aldric lashed out with a kick, taking the Sphere in its triangular chest. The wheel it was perched on skidded forward from underneath it, and it jerked and whipped to stay upright. With a crash and a shower of sparks, Aldric's sword once again severed the creature in two.

Raj and Khal were still battling their Sphere. Amazingly enough, they seemed to be taunting it, laughing and yelling out insults in Ta'agra as it spun and whirled between both targets. They lured it near Aldric, who was watching with an irritated expression. Then Raj lifted his right hand and thrust it into the air in front of him. A small burst of fire slammed into the Sphere, knocking it on its side.

Flames still licking the dead metal creature, it rolled to a stop not far from Twigs. There was a crackling sound, and then the puddle of liquid it had touched suddenly ignited with a roar.

A hand roughly grabbed Twigs' collar and hauled him out of the way as the trail of fire shrieked toward him. He lost his footing and fell to the floor, and Aldric let him go.

"Goddammit," he snarled, turning on the brothers. "There is no time for mischief. You treat this like sport, and you'll be killed. And you," he pointed accusingly at Twigs. "Shake off your distractions."

He started to argue, but then realized Aldric was right. Twigs pushed to his feet, looking at a small remnant of the slick, oily flammable agent on the floor. He'd seen it before, and he should have recognized it.

Khal looked mildly embarrassed, but Raj was still grinning down at the scorched fragments of the Sphere. Not for the first time, Twigs suspected that he took a strange kind of enjoyment from deadly, dangerous things.

"We should turn around right now and go back," Aldric threatened.

"One more chamber, please," Twigs begged. "If she's not there, then we can turn back."

Muttering under his breath, Aldric turned on his heel and stomped further into the ruin. Khal shoved his brother's shoulder, hissing what sounded like a reprimand at him, and the two followed him.

They turned down a long, dark hallway. Halfway down, a spider popped up from a ground trap and scuttled toward Aldric. He kicked it aside, and Raj leapt up and brought his steel boot down on it, crushing it.

A loud swishing, whooshing sound drew Twigs' attention. He gingerly stepped past the broken remains of the spider to be confronted with a steep, smooth stone incline. A long slit was drawn up the middle of the ramp, and two blade mechanisms ripped through the air, spinning. They were attached to two traveling poles, relentlessly patrolling up and down the incline.

"How in Oblivion are we supposed to get past that?" he asked in confusion. The blades were easily the length of a man, sweeping across the entire span of the incline.

"Very carefully," Aldric answered testily.

He walked forward, waiting for the lower blade to travel away from him. Moving quickly, he ran after it, making sure to stay well away from the device. Just when it looked like the mechanism would reverse and slice into him, he darted to the side and pressed his back against the wall.

Once it had passed, he ran to the middle of the ramp again and followed the second trap. He repeated the process again, waiting for the blades to pass him by, and then stepped to the top of the incline.

Raj wasted no time, eager to prove that he could do the same. He hadn't even made it to the top before Khal jumped in after his brother. Both of the Khajiit made it look even easier than Aldric had, and soon Twigs was left standing by himself at the bottom.

"All right," he mumbled to himself, making sure his bow was secure.

He walked to the bottom, intending to leap up after the first trap traveled away from him. However, he found himself staring up at it, his mouth cottony, and watched it make a full revolution without moving.

Twigs looked up at Aldric and the brothers waiting for him, and saw that Raj was smiling widely down at him. He frowned and steeled himself, waiting for the trap to pass again, and then pressed forward.

He was almost to the halfway point, and then his boot slipped on a smooth expanse of stone. Stumbling, he glanced up to see the blades come to a halt, and then begin to reverse in his direction. Twigs swore and flattened himself to the ground, feeling the wind above him as the razor-sharp edge of the trap soared over his head.

Scrambling up on hands and knees, he shoved himself into the narrow space against the wall. When the second trap had passed, he threw himself gracelessly onto the level ground above the ramp.

Aldric's boots filled his vision as he rolled to his side to stand, breathing hard. The two Khajiit were laughing openly at him, although Aldric stared down at him without a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Can't say I've seen it done _that_ way before."

"I'm better in tombs," Twigs muttered.

Aldric turned and began to walk into the next room. Twigs looked up, craning his head to spot the ceiling to the room. A huge vertical pump was set into a stone pillar in front of them, dividing the area in half. To the right of it, another trap was busily working; this one was a solid metal bar that jutted unpredictably, aiming to push its target into a jet of fire that roared out of the ground.

Just beyond it, two more Spheres were patrolling. One of them immediately spotted Aldric and raised its crossbow, stuck behind the bar. Raj and Khal drew their weapons and began to yell back and forth to each other, coordinating their attack.

That was not what Twigs was focused on. His eyes had traveled well behind the automatons to spy a light-colored object. It was Tinúviel's knapsack, dangling by a strap from a broken pipe's jagged edge.

Ignoring the sounds of the fighting in front of him, he took the left path, where a thick pipe connected the pump's pillar to the stone wall. He dropped to his stomach and rolled beneath it, then scrambled up over the debris on the other side to race to the knapsack.

He had no idea how, but his eyes caught a tiny flash of movement to his right. Twigs did a double take, and then noticed that just behind the broken pipe, there was a slim opening to a sort of passageway.

When he rounded the corner, he came face-to-face with Tinúviel. Behind her was a small chest, its lid popped open. In her hands she carried a small coin purse, as well as a gem or two.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Twigs curled his fingers into the leather of her knapsack, feeling the bulk of sharp-edged objects inside, and thrust it into her middle roughly. She fumbled to catch it, and he could hear the telltale clinking of gold coins inside.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he countered angrily.

She pushed past him to follow the noise. Twigs followed her, just in time to see Aldric grunt as he swung his greatsword over his head to bring his Sphere down. The Khajiit brothers were either having a tough time with their own, or were ignoring Aldric's orders not to make a game of it, because they were still fighting.

Aldric spotted her, and sheathed his sword before approaching. "Kindly tell me exactly what you thought you were doing."

Making the most of his height, he stepped too close to her, looming over her. Tinúviel didn't quail; instead, she seemed to grow more determined. "Twigs told me we wouldn't have much time for cracking each chest we came across. I wanted to go in and—"

Aldric seized her knapsack and ripped the flap open before turning it upside down. Gems, jewelry, a circlet or two, and several different kinds of daggers clattered to the floor. Dozens of septims bounced and scattered everywhere.

"And what?" he snapped. "Bring back all the loot you could carry?"

"Yes!" she yelled at him. "Before we had to go further in!"

Aldric flung her emptied knapsack to the ground. "Do you know how many Spheres and spiders we destroyed before we got here?"

"I should think I do," she replied smugly, "since I was very aware of each of them as I snuck past them."

Aldric took a step closer to her, bringing their bodies within inches of each other. He bent down until he was right in her face. "Tell me why I should not cut you from the team right now and send you back to Windhelm."

Embarrassingly enough, he felt an involuntary surge of nervousness. Aldric's voice scared Twigs with how low and even it was. It reminded him of how his father had gotten angry—he never yelled, only got very quiet and serious. That was how Twigs had always known he was in real trouble.

Tinúviel's eyes flicked back and forth between Aldric's. "Because I have nothing left," she said at last.

Aldric turned his gaze to Twigs. "I told you that ruins were full of distractions. She could have been killed, all for money."

Tinúviel started to kneel to the ground, her hand outstretched for an emerald at her feet, but the look on Aldric's face stopped her. Her cheeks darkened as she straightened up. "All right, I apologize. I was overconfident."

"Give me the key."

"What key?" she asked, blinking up at him.

"Give me the key, or I'll find it on you myself," he told her.

Face twisted in irritation, she dug into a pocket and pulled it out, handing it to him.

"This," he said, holding it up to her eyes, "does absolutely nothing." Then he threw it violently over his shoulder, where it clattered into a corner somewhere.

Tinúviel looked confused. "I watched you take it from one of the bodies. Why keep it?"

His eyes were icy. "To tempt disobedient little thieves with more bravery than intelligence."

She had the grace to look embarrassed. When Aldric walked away, she hastily picked up her knapsack and shot a dirty look to Twigs.

"What's that for?" he asked her.

"I'd bet all the gold I _might_ have made with all this," she gestured to the scattered valuables on the floor, "that you were the one that raised such a fuss about coming after me. I don't think Aldric gives one fig about what happens to any of us inside here, except his friends."

Twigs wasn't even fazed. Tinúviel could be as mean as she wanted to him. She was alive and unharmed, and that was all he cared about.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **Sorry about the mistaken notification! I clearly should not be doing this when I'm not very awake.

* * *

**Chapter 13**

Aldric helped Twigs through the doors into the chamber where the rest of the team was waiting. The young man had his hand clasped to his forehead, and Khal was on the other side of him, half-heartedly holding him up.

He dragged him across the floor until he found Patric. The mage was sitting near the fire, chatting with Lyssa, and he looked up in shock as Aldric dumped Twigs on the floor in front of him.

"First injury," he told him unnecessarily. "Time to use your skills."

Aldric knew he was being too rough with Twigs, but he was annoyed. On the way back from finding Tinúviel, the thresher trap had had to be dealt with once again. One by one, they'd all gone through, until Twigs insisted on following Tinúviel.

He'd had his attention focused on her, instead of himself, and hadn't pulled to the wall quickly enough. For one tense moment, Aldric had thought the blade had sliced through his skull. He hadn't been able to adequately express just how lucky Twigs was to sustain only a gash to his forehead, so he hadn't tried.

_Distractions_.

"Well?" he snapped irritably. "Get going."

Patric fell to his knees next to Twigs. Blood had flowed in a sheet over the young explorer's face, and was still pumping out from behind the hand clapped over the wound. The mage's eyes were huge and round as he pulled Twigs' hand away from his face.

"By the Eight." The Breton's voice shook.

Aldric stared down at him. "Head wounds are gushers. Can you heal it, or are you completely useless?"

"I…" Patric closed his eyes and seemed to dig inside himself for something, and then his right hand began to glow.

Aldric had only seen healing like this take place once up close, but it was much the same as it had been the first time. Patric's hand hovered near the gash in Twigs' forehead, soft yellow light emanating from his palm.

After a moment, he pulled back and stood up. "I've closed the wound."

Aldric crouched next to Twigs and peered at his head. "Find a wet cloth somewhere, for the blood."

Twigs rolled to rest flat on his back, his eyes very white against the red coating his face. "That felt good."

He narrowed his eyes. "Let's try not to run face-first into traps, shall we?"

"Trust me," Twigs groaned, "there is no need for lectures. I haven't felt this stupid since I was fourteen and broke my ankle trying to get a better look at a mushroom."

Aldric gave a grudging chuckle, and then noticed that Tinúviel was hovering near the two of them. He stood and moved back a step or two, and the elf edged closer to Twigs.

"He'll be all right, then?" she asked abruptly, but Aldric caught the glimmer of concern in her eyes.

He nodded. "You might want to take over for the mage. I sent him off to get a wet cloth, but I don't think he'll return for a while." The sharp tang of bile had drifted to his nose from somewhere nearby.

Aldric expected her to refuse, but she knelt on the floor and pulled a water skin from her knapsack. Gently, she dribbled a thin stream of water over Twigs' face, and then ran a square of linen over him.

Reminded of something, he looked around the area. He found the person he was looking for, and made his way up the wooden steps to the upper platform. Brynjolf was watching over the group from above, arms folded.

He smirked. "Just like you to lord over everyone."

"I am the honorary captain while you're gone, after all," Brynjolf grinned. "Find the lassie all right?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, as a matter of fact."

"Honestly, I'm surprised you kept her after the stunt she pulled," Brynjolf admitted. "She's superfluous. We don't need her, and you could've easily booted her out the door with how close we are to the entrance."

"If it had been anyone else, I would have." He looked down at the elf, who was still tending to Twigs. "It pains me to say it, but she's one of the most talented thieves I've ever seen."

His friend raised a brow. "Compared to the Guild?"

"Bryn, those Spheres and even the spiders are finely tuned to the slightest hint of a living presence. It is damn hard to sneak past them, and she did it, and she cracked every chest on her way through. _After_ she pulled the key from your pocket. She makes even Vex look like a green trainee."

Brynjolf followed his gaze to Tinúviel. "That's a bold claim, Aldric."

"If there were any way to add another Nightingale to the order, I might nominate her," he stated. "How's that for bold?"

The thief's mouth dropped open a little. "Surely you're joking."

"I'm not."

"She's bad off, Aldric!" he reminded him, his voice astonished. "She said so herself, she has no coin. If she was as good as you imply, she'd have so much gold she wouldn't know what to _do_ with it all."

"She's a Dark Elf in Skyrim," Aldric pointed out. "I'd imagine it's something of a challenge for her to find a reliable fence at all, much less one that will give her a good deal."

Brynjolf considered that, rubbing his fist underneath his chin. "Truthfully, she did catch my eye after she popped that lock on the gate below. Took her only four picks."

"You think she's Guild material, then?"

"I do," he replied easily. "She'd make a fine recruit."

"Good. If she makes it out of here—and I'm certain she will—I'll send her to you in Riften."

"I'll keep my eyes open for her."

* * *

After Twigs washed the blood from his body and Patric had been rounded up, Aldric gathered everyone near the set of doors further into the ruins.

"Thanks to a few of your teammates—" he paused, pointedly not looking at either Tinúviel or Twigs, "—we no longer have to worry about any of the automatons from here to the lift. The traps remain active, however."

"Lift?" Lyssa asked, brow wrinkled.

"The Dwemer created steam-powered mechanisms that either carry you up to the surface, or lower you deeper into the ground," he explained. "There are several of them in Blackreach that provide instant access to Skyrim, if they still function correctly. The one we'll use today will take us to what used to be known as the Deep Market."

"That's not ominous at all," Tinúviel muttered under her breath.

"What can we expect there?" Patric asked brightly, clearly eager to make up for his earlier discomfort.

"Immediately after descending, the lift will deposit us into an area that has been infested with Falmer. How many of you have encountered Falmer before?"

Only Twigs raised his hand. Brynjolf put his up too, a smirk on his face.

_Wonderful_. "The most important thing you need to know about the Falmer is that they've completely lost their sight. Their sense of hearing, however, has compensated for that."

Raj chose that moment to shuffle his feet, and the clanking of his armor seemed much more obvious than usual. He stared right back at Aldric as if daring him to say something.

He took a deep breath. "Kaspar will leave first once the lift stops. If we're forced to engage the Falmer, Patric, Twigs and Tinúviel will remain near the lift no matter what. Lyssa, you'll have your chance to use your bow."

The Bosmer archer straightened in pleased surprise.

Patric broke in with another question. "Wait… if you're forced to engage the Falmer? You mean you're not going to attack them?"

Aldric shook his head. "That's what I mean. If we can avoid it, then we're going to avoid it. Most Falmer are fond of poisoning their blades and arrows, and more than a few of them are skilled with magic. It can and will quickly turn into a dirty fight."

"They have _weapons?_" the mage squeaked.

Even Twigs turned his head incredulously at that.

"What exactly do you think the Falmer are, Patric?" Aldric asked him.

He reddened, self-consciously tugging at his hood. "Well, I meant to say, I—that is…"

"They're not trolls, lad," Brynjolf interjected, not unkindly. "They have a fully formed culture, even a written language."

"Forget I said anything," Patric mumbled.

Tinúviel snorted.

"There will be Centurions _vasa_… ah, beneath?" Raj inquired, his heavily accented voice breaking the silence.

Aldric almost wanted to say no, because he knew both brothers were looking forward to battling it for greedy, reckless reasons. "Yes. There will be a Centurion beneath, but not until we are very close to entering Blackreach."

The group was silent.

He could sense the heightened pulses around him, and his patience wore thin. "I know most of you have many more questions you'd like answered, but it has been my experience that the longer you delay doing something that frightens you, the worse it will be."

"Is that supposed to motivate us?" Tinúviel drawled, looking bored.

His tolerance snapped. "If that doesn't do it for you, I can always put a boot up your ass."

* * *

Miraculously, everyone had made it through the thresher trap without any injuries this time. Even Patric dipped in and out of the blades with a grace he wouldn't have thought possible. They were now in the same chamber that they'd found Tinúviel in.

Aldric was standing behind her and Brynjolf, watching them discuss the chest in front of them. Brynjolf had recognized the more elaborate detailing of the Dwemer design, marking it as being secured by the most difficult lock they had made.

Tinúviel campaigned to be the one to open it, but Aldric thought otherwise. "You've opened your share of chests so far."

Brynjolf knelt in front of the container, and Aldric's mouth twitched when one of his knees popped. He pulled only his wrench out of the small pocket of his hip, and leaned closer to the chest.

Dwemer chests like the one he was examining posed a different challenge than most of the chests the average thief would see in their lifetime. It posed no lock to insert a pick into and no tumblers to try to maneuver.

Instead, a small, open panel of gears was stationed on the lid of the chest. If the gears could be correctly manipulated into the right combination, they would spin, and the chest would open.

If they were pulled too far out of position, however, they cracked a thin pane of glass somewhere within. Once the glass was cracked, it was sealed from inside, and there would be virtually no way of gaining entry.

Brynjolf hovered over the chest, the tip of his wrench gently twirling the first tiny gear. Something—a miniscule click, a twitch, a shiver—stopped him, and he moved on to the second one. Tinúviel watched beside him, her mouth open in obvious fascination.

The second one took more time, but eventually he was satisfied with its position, and he passed to the third and final gear. His wrench had barely started to push it when he suddenly pulled back.

"Did you crack the glass?" Aldric asked.

His eyes ran all over the surface of the lid. "No. I felt something, though. I think I might be close."

"Might I try?" Tinúviel asked, her voice uncharacteristically polite.

Brynjolf hesitated for a second, and then nodded. "If you think you can do it."

He moved out of the way, and she crouched in front of the chest. She pulled her fingerless glove off, running her hand over the smooth stone lid. Aldric watched, a brow arched, as she closed her eyes and laid her head against it.

When she tapped the side of the chest with the tip of her own wrench, he realized what she was doing. She was testing the way the vibrations traveled through it, her delicately pointed ear pressed to the lid.

Tinúviel sat up and inserted her wrench into the last gear. Moving very slowly, with the fingertips of her other hand resting against the lid, she worked the device. Aldric watched, expecting to hear a sharp crack at any second.

Abruptly, the lid sank into itself as all three gears began to turn at once. Tinúviel jerked back, startled, but then she quietly exulted to herself when the lid scraped open.

"Not bad, lass," Brynjolf complimented her. He tweaked the tip of her ear. "Those are quite useful."

She shied away, rubbing her ear where he'd touched it. Her face had darkened, and she took a few steps from them.

"Something wrong?" Aldric asked her.

She hadn't lowered her hand. "It's nothing, it's just… my ears are very sensitive."

Brynjolf hadn't noticed, busily pulling out objects from the open chest. Aldric, however, noticed that Twigs was watching the encounter.

"Did you hear that?" He lowered his voice as he walked past Twigs. "Her ears are very _sensitive_." His last word was spoken in a way that suggested more than one meaning.

It was all too easy to get a blush out of him. "Don't."

He turned the corner, chuckling to himself, to see Raj and Khal tormenting two spiders that had ejected from the hallway leading to the lift. Somehow, they had managed to confuse the two automatons to the point where they were attacking each other instead of the brothers.

Raj's back was to Aldric, but Khal saw him, and he immediately drew his sword and sliced the nearest spider in half. His brother began to protest, and then turned to look over his shoulder at Khal's sudden hiss.

There was a short pause.

"We found them like that," Raj said.

"Of course you did." He brushed past the two. The second spider was poking belligerently at the crumpled remains of its brethren. "Take care of the last one."

Kaspar was beyond the two of them, standing in the shaft of light drifting down from a functioning lamp hanging overhead. The greenish-blue glow illuminated the long, dirty-blond tail of hair tied to hang down his back as he contemplated the lift in front of him.

"What are you thinking?" Aldric asked him, putting his face right next to the scout's ear from behind.

Kaspar turned to him with a half-smile, impossible as ever to surprise. "There is a body within the webbing," he observed, pointing upward.

Aldric frowned and stepped into the lift, looking overhead. Thousands of gossamer strands of spider silk had formed thick, sticky webbing crossing the ceiling of the lift. If he squinted, it was possible to just barely see a contorted, mangled corpse encased within the web.

"Huh." He scratched his head. "Look at that."

"We should not point that out to the others."

"No, we shouldn't."

Footsteps sounded from behind, and Aldric turned to see Brynjolf bringing up the rear behind the rest of the team. Raj and Khal were first into the lift, unsurprisingly, and Twigs stepped in with Tinúviel. Lyssa crossed over, finding an empty spot to stand in, and Brynjolf took the place next to Aldric. Patric was the last to enter.

"Anyone want to volunteer to crank the lever?" Aldric offered.

No one moved.

"Very well, then. Stand away from the walls."

The circle tightened, moving as one as they all stepped closer. Aldric bent down and grasped the lever in front of him, pulling it toward him with a grunt. The floor beneath them jerked once, slightly, though it was enough to make Lyssa gasp. There was a deep groan, and steam began to hiss from somewhere.

Just as the lift began to descend, Patric let out a strangled gasp.

"Sweet Mara…" he choked out, looking up.

Kaspar violently pressed his lips together.

Before anyone else could catch on, the lift began to lower. The huge gears attached to the floor rolled methodically, metal teeth biting into the grooves set into the track to whisk them downward.

It was slower, and yet faster, than Aldric remembered. The floor of the hallway crept higher and higher until it passed from sight as they descended, and the lift was thrown into darkness as they rolled away from the solitary lamp above them. Aldric heard several hushed intakes of breath.

Only a second or two later, a beam of light shot out around the floor as they began to pass another lamp. The light crawled upward over their bodies, illuminating them inches at a time until the small chamber was fully lit again. Then the process completed in reverse, darkness eating its way up from their feet as they lowered.

The lift began to pick up speed. Aldric stood still, fighting his body's natural reaction to crouch as he sensed the shift in momentum. The gears began to crank louder, drowning out any other radiant sound. Each passing lamp was now merely a bar of pale green light that ran up and down the bodies of the people around him, faster and faster.

He saw flashes of their faces; Patric and Lyssa, scared but steady; Kaspar, utterly calm; Twigs, tense; Raj and Khal, eyes eager; Tinúviel, looking bored; and Brynjolf beside him, eyes closed.

Deeper and deeper they traveled into the ground. Aldric took a hint from Brynjolf and closed his eyes, avoiding the disorientation of the flashing lights. After a moment, his nose twitched as it picked up a different scent. The air was growing less stale and more earthy—clean and a little humid.

_Almost there. _

Just after he'd had the thought, the lift began to slow by a degree or two. After a moment, it became obvious that they were nearing the end of the shaft. The flashing of the passing lamps began to lessen, until finally they passed into the last patch of darkness. They inched downward, painfully slow, as the gears whined and squeaked to a stop.

The lift bounced as it halted. They had arrived at the Deep Market.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **Thank you for all the follows/favorites, and reviews! And thank you, **Scythe**, as always.

* * *

**Chapter 14**

"_**Torn from their home of ice and frost**_

_**Thrown into the pitch black dread of night**_

_**Living in fear as their minds became lost**_

_**As their eyes begin dimming the light"**_

_**THE BETRAYED**_

_**Engwe Emeloth**_

Somewhere above them, deep in the ground, machinery gave a low, shuddering groan before fading into silence. Vents from ahead of them carried traveling sounds of a pump, and a large broken pipe gushed swirled clouds of vapor near the doors.

Raj and Khal flanked Aldric, and he signaled for Kaspar. The scout noticed the thresher trap just outside of the lift and crept near the wall. This one was easier to get past than the one from earlier, and it was no problem at all for him to reach the doors.

He moved forward, waiting until the blades had passed him, and then joined Kaspar at the doors. They waited patiently until the rest of the team had joined them. Tinúviel's face lit up when she spied a small chest tucked near the doors, but Aldric shook his head at her.

Kaspar pushed open the doors and exited the hallway. He didn't hesitate for a second, and crept down the steps into the chamber beyond. Aldric followed until he passed the open doors, and then he took a knee on the floor.

The air was noticeably thicker, even harder to breathe for a split second. It tasted almost like rain, no doubt due to the gloomy mist that hung in the Market. It was so thick that it nearly made it hard to see into the distance ahead.

The space before him was massive. It had once been a natural cavern, but the Dwemer had constructed a tall, proud tower in the middle of it. Five ornately carved pillars held up a massive, circular platform that housed a modest stone structure. Beyond it, through the murk, Aldric glimpsed a set of steps leading to a curving ramp that rose up from the ground to spiral through the air to reach the platform.

There were two mechanical bridges connected to the central platform—one was raised, cutting off access from the platform to another tower set into the side of the cave, high off the ground—and the other was lowered, connecting the structure directly above and to the right of him. Aldric wondered where the access panel was for the raised bridge, and if Kaspar would know to look for it.

Two Falmer huts were readily visible on the ground, one less than twenty feet from him, and another across the way. A fire burned dimly in front of the second one. The huts, constructed from the body parts of the chaurus that the Falmer tamed, were dark in color and draped with tattered swaths of red fabric. They had no doors or coverings concealing the interiors—there was no need for privacy when the entire society was blind.

Kaspar took the path to the left, between the first hut and a collapsed pillar. Just as he reached the gap, a Falmer emerged from it and began to creep across the floor in its slinking, skulking walk. Kaspar was within feet of him, and Aldric tensed as he watched.

The Falmer passed, unaware, and Kaspar continued. He chose to stay to the left the entire time, circling well away from more of the Falmer that patrolled the area. Several times, he was close enough to touch the pale creatures as he passed them.

He successfully made it to the stairs, and Aldric watched as he followed the ramp onto the central tower. Kaspar observed it for a moment, and then crossed the lowered metal bridge. After a second, his head poked over the ledge above Aldric.

Pointing to the dwelling to Aldric's left, he held up his left hand, fully opened, and two fingers of his right hand. _Seven huts_. Then he pointed to a Falmer that traced a path across the floor. He held up both of his hands, curled into closed fists.

Aldric nodded to him, and Kaspar's head withdrew. Then he looked around the chamber, scowling, before returning to the rest of the group.

Brynjolf was the closest, crouching just inside the doors. Aldric could tell that he'd summarized the situation just by looking.

"Bad luck," he guessed. "There are many?"

"More than ten."

The thief nodded his head behind him. "More than they'd be able to slip past."

"I am aware of that, thanks very much."

"Well, luckily for you, I've figured out an excellent plan." Brynjolf looked out into the chamber beyond. "No easy way to do this, so I'm going to run out there and holler at the top of my lungs. Break the tension and all, you know. Then, from there, we can take them all head-on." His eyes were completely serious.

Despite having known Brynjolf for nearly ten years, sometimes it was still difficult for him to know for certain whether the thief was joking or not.

Aldric regarded him. "If you do that," he said slowly, "I will slap the beard off your face."

Brynjolf grinned. "What, you don't like the plan?"

In answer to that, he turned and pulled the doors shut. Over the whirring of the thresher trap, he motioned to Tinúviel. "All right. You're first."

Twigs indignantly furrowed his brow as she stepped forward. "First for what?"

He guided Tinúviel to the door by her elbow. "Kaspar and Brynjolf are going to lead Tinúviel, you, Patric, and then Lyssa through the camp up to where he is now. One by one."

"What are you going to do?"

Aldric looked at the brothers next to him. Khal's ears swiveled curiously. "Raj and Khal are going to follow me up. If we alert any, then they will be dealt with."

"How many of them are out there?" Patric asked, trying to mask the slight shaking in his voice.

"That is not for you to worry about." He tried to make his expression as bored as possible, to assuage any fears the mage was developing. Then he gestured to Lyssa. "Focus on the targets above, in the towers. The three of us will take the ground."

She pulled her Elven bow from her back. Aldric thought she looked both afraid and excited.

Tinúviel hadn't raised any objections. He looked to her now. "Anything from you?"

She shook her head. "I'll be fine."

Aldric believed her. He had a feeling that she could go out by herself and meet up with Kaspar with no difficulties. "Let's go, then."

The two of them pushed through the doors again, Lyssa in tow, just in time to see Kaspar making his way back to them from across the chamber. He met with them silently, and with a look from Aldric, he motioned for Tinúviel to follow him.

When he'd made it nearly to the stairs, Brynjolf stepped up beside him with Twigs. They set off, using the same path Kaspar had taken. Lyssa had her head tilted up, eyes intensely trained on the movement of the Falmer above them.

At the first landing of the stairs, Twigs slipped on something. Aldric watched him go down on a knee, both palms slapping the ground to brace him. Just as quickly as he'd fallen, he was up again. Brynjolf wasted no time, taking him by the arm and moving faster up the steps.

For a second, Aldric thought they had made it. Then, from his side, he saw Lyssa's arms raise up. She had nocked an arrow, but she hadn't fully pulled her elbow back. He followed her aim to the central tower above them.

A Falmer had pushed to its feet, stationed on the edge of the platform. It had clearly heard the sound of Twigs' fall, and was standing motionless, head carefully turning from side to side to pinpoint the sound.

Everyone behind him seemed to stop breathing. Aldric could sense that every pair of eyes that held sight was now watching the lone Falmer overhead.

_You were wrong,_ he thought at the creature. _You heard nothing_.

As if echoing his idea, the Falmer slowly lost the tension in his posture and began to walk back to the huts hidden from their view on top of the platform. Brynjolf and Twigs hurried past him, making for the ledge above.

Then the Falmer turned back. Aldric couldn't know if it had heard their footfalls, or felt the breeze of their passing, or detected their breathing. Whatever the reason, it had returned, and it was pointed in the right direction to follow Brynjolf.

He heard the creaking next to him that indicated Lyssa's bowstring had reached full tension. Aldric stared at the Falmer. It drew a sword and began to raise its arm to alert its comrades.

He nodded, and no sooner had his head moved than Lyssa released. The shot was dead-on. Before the Falmer could make a sound, the arrow thudded home in his throat. Body limp, he fell forward and soared to the ground, landing with a dull crunch.

One of the Falmer ahead of them on the ground lurched out of his hut, creeping forward to inspect the body of his fallen friend. He nodded again, and another of Lyssa's arrows took him out.

Aldric held his breath. Even despite their keen hearing, the cavern was large enough that the others may not have registered the attack.

That was not the case.

What happened next was slaughter. There was no other word for it. Raj and Khal charged off the landing, making for whatever target was closest. Lyssa shot as quickly as she could, sending arrow after arrow into the space above them.

Aldric stayed where he was, unwilling to leave Lyssa and Patric alone. A Falmer broke from the chaos ahead of them. The creature was one of the few that Aldric had ever seen to wear heavy armor, but it was chipped and badly damaged. He wondered idly how it had gotten that way, what kinds of opponents this fighter had faced.

He drew his greatsword and braced himself. The Falmer did not hesitate, and lunged at him with a shriek. He parried the first blow, easily knocking aside the sword, and drove his own blade through the creature's middle. The Falmer was forced off his feet, and blood gurgled from his mouth to pour down his pale chin when Aldric withdrew his sword. He kicked the body off the landing and readied himself again.

Raj and Khal dispatched the last Falmer. Aldric stepped off the landing and strode into the chamber, ignoring the sounds of Patric's retching behind him. Khal was cleaning his blade with the loincloth of one of the bodies at his feet.

Brynjolf met him at the central tower, standing at the top of the ramp with a grim look on his face.

Aldric immediately looked to the group that was waiting with Kaspar. "Is anyone injured?"

The thief shook his head and pointed behind him, over his shoulder. Then he walked away without a word.

Aldric frowned as he walked forward. Under the shelter of the roof of the tower, two more Falmer huts had been constructed. The area was naturally fortified, and a crudely made fire warmed the small, close space.

As he moved closer, a strange sound met his ears. Though he couldn't identify it at first, something within him recognized it and sent a small curl of anxiety through him. Aldric quickened his pace, ducking into the hut on his right, and then froze.

He had seen so many new things over the past ten years. Some of them were fascinating, some horrifying, some thrilling, and some very sad. The sight in front of him was a combination of all of those things.

Before him was a small trough-like container, constructed from the sturdy shell of the chaurus like so many of the Falmer's creations. Inside, two little bundles were securely nestled among handfuls of sweet-smelling yellow straw, the source of the noise.

He knelt on the ground to get a closer look. The infants squalled, kicking their legs and rustling their bedding. Aldric stared at them, his eyes drinking them in. Like their parents, their skin was bone-white, nearly translucent in its pallor. They were not rail-thin like adult Falmer, though they weren't as chubby as a man or mer's infant might be.

Both of them had pinkish skin over where their eyes would have been and slit-like nostrils—but softened by tiny round cheeks, they were not as garish as he would have thought. Their long, pointed ears were not rigid as he would have expected, either; instead, they were floppy and slightly wrinkled. He stretched out a finger to one.

As soon as he brushed against it, the tiny creature instantly ceased its wailing. Its sightless eyes looked up, as if it would still strain to see the face of the man that was touching it. Aldric stroked the velvety edge of its ear, and then moved his hand to pat the other infant.

Both of them, now quiet, stared upward. Their little mouths worked, and Aldric pulled up the blanket that they had managed to kick away, firmly tucking it around them. He stood up quietly and backed out of the hut.

Tinúviel was the only one that had come to see. Together, they stood and looked down at the babies, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

"They are very new," she said after a long moment.

"How can you tell?"

"The ears." The infants had turned their attention to her low, smooth voice. "Dunmer babies are born with their ears wrinkled like that, but after a few weeks they grow strong."

Aldric didn't say anything.

She turned away. "If their mother was here, then she's dead."

"I know that."

"What will you do?" she asked him.

"There isn't anything I can do," he replied, walking away from the hut.

Tinúviel followed him, and to her credit, she didn't press the matter. She likely knew as well as he did that if they weren't going to kill them, then they had to leave them. What was kinder, Aldric didn't know.

"There may be other adults, somewhere within," Tinúviel murmured.

He didn't answer. When he returned to the rest of the group, no one met his eyes. Kaspar lowered the bridge to the third tower, and they began to cross. They had to move directly past the hut that contained the two babies, and not one member of the team looked inside.

Aldric was last this time. He stood for a moment near the barred metal wall flanking the hallway that led to the next chamber, staring out at the tower. Somehow, it felt harder than it should have to leave.

But he did. He turned around and left. And, as he began to walk away, tiny cries once again echoed out through the air.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **Thank you to **Charlotte** and **Hint of a Melody**-you guys are awesome.

* * *

**Chapter 15**

The group had sat down to rest for an hour after making it out of the first chamber of the Deep Market. Many of them needed the break after the first tangle with the Falmer, and the two infants they had encountered had rattled the ones—like Raj and Khal—who weren't fazed by the violence.

No one wanted to talk about it, but Twigs was certain they all felt the same way. It was hard for any of them to face the reality that a race as bloodthirsty and horrifying as the Falmer had a culture of their own—rituals and customs and babies, and maybe even love, too.

Guilt washed over him. Instead of paying attention to himself, Twigs had been watching Tinúviel once again. His feet had gotten away from him, leading to slipping on the blood of the dismembered skeever on the stone landing. He wondered if Aldric realized that, or if he had chalked it up to simple clumsiness.

At the moment, his captain was resting cross-legged on the floor with his back against the wall, eyes closed. Twigs had been smart enough to sense that he shouldn't approach or try to talk to Aldric after they'd left the chamber with the infants—something in his eyes warned everyone away.

Now, it was looking like they were going to bed down again. There was no way to tell time, but the feeling of exhaustion in his limbs was enough for him. Twigs was not about to try to rouse Aldric from whatever trance or meditation he was in at the moment, so he found Brynjolf.

The thief was talking quietly to Lyssa. Both of them were standing in front of the puzzle mechanism that was supposed to lower the bars that prevented them from the next door.

"How does it work?" she inquired. "Do you have to figure out a patterned code?"

"It's hard to say, lass," Brynjolf answered. "Might be that, or it might simply be that only one will do the trick."

A niche set into the stone wall served as the perch for four short, rounded metal columns. On the tops of each column was a brightly glowing blue button. They looked so innocuous and simple that it was easy to see why so many Dwemer traps had claimed countless lives.

Surprisingly, Patric had been the one to point out the trap. At first glance, it seemed truly devoid of any danger—but the mage had spotted the black circular pipes that jutted inconspicuously from the walls directly opposite the trap. Whatever came from them, Twigs did not want to find out.

"Which one do you think it is?" The archer looked to Brynjolf again.

"My opinion isn't worth much when it comes to things of this sort," he began, "but I do know that when it comes to the Dwemer, the solution is never the obvious."

"So, not the first button."

"I would think not."

Lyssa studied the trap for a moment more, and then walked away to where Patric was setting up his spot for the night.

Twigs didn't bother with subtlety. "Is something wrong with Aldric?"

Brynjolf smirked and looked past him to where the man had been sitting for the last hour. "That's a loaded question."

He wasn't quite sure what Brynjolf meant by that. "He's been like that for a long time. Do you think it was the two… well…"

"It could be."

"I would never have thought Aldric, of all people, would be upset by something like that," Twigs mused, rubbing the back of his neck.

Brynjolf glanced at him. "He's not a brute, lad. He feels just the same as the rest of us."

He flushed. "I didn't mean that."

The other man clapped him on the shoulder. "I know you didn't. Best rest up, Twigs. We're nearing the entrance to Blackreach."

Brynjolf walked away, and Twigs turned to watch him go. Then he noticed that Aldric's eyes were open and trained directly on him. He was across the room, and the sound of machinery and steam filled the air, but Twigs had the feeling that he'd heard every word.

* * *

Hours later, he rolled restlessly to his back. Unlike the first night they had spent inside Raldbthar, sleep would not come easily to him this time. He had been able to get past the relentless noise of the equipment around them, and the fact that they were now impossibly deep underground, but the Khajiit brothers had woken him with their conversation.

They weren't close to him, but soft snatches of their words carried to his ears over the clanking and hissing sounds in the small room. Heads bent together, they talked low and intensely. Raj was nodding a lot at whatever Khal was saying. No doubt they were preparing to face the Centurion they had been waiting for.

Twigs rubbed his eyes and sat up from the spot he'd chosen in front of the trap. He looked around the room, wondering if there was a discreet place to make water. Unsatisfied with his options, he stood and began to walk back the way they'd come.

All of the automaton traps had been dealt with easily enough, and their metal bodies still littered the ground. Twigs stepped over and around them, finally settling on a spot. Just as he'd unbuckled his belt and begun to undo the buttons of his trousers, a voice sounded behind him.

"What are you doing?"

He jumped badly, whipping around. Tinúviel stood there frowning at him. As soon as her eyes dropped to his groin, where his fingers were frozen holding a button, a mischievous look crossed her face. He immediately cupped his hands over himself, even though he was sure she couldn't see anything.

He glared at her. "Why did you follow me?"

"I wanted to see what you were up to," she said loftily, her hands on her hips. "But now that I see you just wanted some _alone_ time, I think I'll go back to the others."

"It's not like that," he snapped. "I have to… you know."

"Are we not supposed to do that in teams? Aldric said not to walk off alone for any reason."

"I know what he said. Nothing will happen to me here." He nodded to a dead spider nearby. "They killed them all."

"You can't know that for certain."

He rolled his eyes upward. "Are you going to leave or not?"

Tinúviel watched him for a moment, and then walked even further down the hall, away from him. "Might as well go myself, if we're both down here."

Heat crawled up his neck when she deftly undid her own belt and began to pull her trousers down. Twigs turned away, forcing himself to ignore her. He freed himself from his pants and took aim at a small grate on the floor.

Nothing happened.

_Come on,_ he growled to himself.

Behind him, Tinúviel seemed to be having no issues. He heard her stand and begin to button her trousers again. His anxiety mounted when her footsteps drew near.

"Problems?" she asked sweetly.

"Go on without me. I'll be up in a moment."

"Sorry, but no. Aldric would rip my eyes out if something happened to you while you were all alone," she said.

He groaned.

She moved forward, and then he felt her small hands gripping his elbows from behind. "Think of… running water," she murmured. "A tall waterfall. A rippling stream." Her front brushed his rear for a second.

Tinúviel was having an effect on his uncooperative body, all right, but it wasn't the one she would have expected. Once he realized what was happening, he hastily began to button up again.

When he turned, her brows were raised. "What, you're just going to hold it?"

He looked away in annoyance. "If it wasn't going to happen when you were down the hall, it's not going to happen with you standing right behind me." He stomped back toward the chamber the rest of the group waited in.

She called after him. "Twigs!"

He kicked his boots off and began to wriggle inside his bedroll again. To his great irritation, he heard her soft footsteps approach him once again.

"What is it now?" he muttered.

"You're going to wet yourself like a child, you know," she observed. "Here, I'll just stand right here, and you can go back by yourself. I'll know by your high-pitched scream if you've run into anything down there."

For a moment, he considered the offer. In the end, pride won out. He would rather his bladder burst inside of him than succumb to her teasing.

When it became obvious that he wasn't going to get up, Tinúviel snorted. "Fine." She walked around to where he lay on his side and sat down in front of him. "If you won't go, then at least talk to me."

Twigs sat up and looked around suspiciously. Raj and Khal were sleeping at last, or at least pretending. Everyone else was silent. "Why?"

"Why not?" She looked back at him, her expression unreadable. "Would it be so unpleasant to talk to me?"

He could feel a stuttered apology rising to the surface, but then ruthlessly squashed it. "You always do that."

"Do what?"

"You put yourself down before someone else can do it." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted it. He hadn't intended to be so blunt.

Tinúviel's eyes flickered. "I do not," she countered.

"Yes, you do," he insisted. "That's twice now that you've done it to me."

She looked away, shifting her legs. "Must be a reflex from living in the Gray Quarter."

"Why would you live there if it's so awful?" he asked.

She turned back to him, and her eyes had hardened. "Because at least there are more of my own kind there. I have no desire to run off to a city where there might be only one other elf there."

Twigs had been there only briefly before meeting her for the first time, but he had run into several Nord men that had not been shy about expressing their hatred for the Dunmer that lived in Windhelm. One of them—the same one he'd witnessed drunkenly stumbling through the Quarter, screaming abuse—had even hinted that he might go and kidnap one during the night.

His stomach turned at the thought of something like that happening to Tinúviel. "You don't deserve the things that happen there."

"None of us do," she said sharply. "There's nothing to be done for it, Twigs. That's just the way life is."

"It doesn't have to be that way for you."

Her eyes narrowed a fraction. "And what does that mean? That some strong man will come and rescue me? Save me from a life of hardship and oppression?"

Twigs looked down.

"That _is_ what you meant." Then Tinúviel gave a small gasp. "And _you_ want to be that man!"

He wanted to curl up in a small ball and hide at the foot of his bedroll. Tinúviel sounded delighted, and not in a nice way.

"No." He looked into her eyes. "I can't save anyone. I couldn't even save my father."

She looked back at him, all her humor leaking away. Before she could say anything else, he lay back down and rolled over so that she couldn't see his face.

* * *

Twigs never got to see what came out of the trap's nozzles, as it turned out. Aldric had pressed the fourth column's button to no effect, and then the third one had lowered the bars to the next door.

The group filed into the space between the bars and the new door, and then Kaspar pressed the button that raised the spikes again.

"Why bother raising them again?" Lyssa asked him.

"You do not want anything sneaking up from behind, little archer," the scout said. He playfully reached out behind her back and tweaked her braid, and she blushed. Twigs liked Kaspar.

Aldric pushed open the door, ignoring the exchange. Like the Deep Market, more mist clouded the chamber in front of them. Raj and Khal flanked Aldric from either side, and the three of them walked into the space ahead.

Twigs blinked at the cloudy mist that surged forward to envelop him. The first thing he noticed was the sounds of machinery that filled the air. It was much louder than most of what they had encountered so far—the screech of metal grinding against metal almost hurt his ears.

He immediately saw where the sound came from when Aldric opened the gate before them. Through the thin fog, he could see a massive set of gears not far away, futilely struggling and twitching to fight past something jammed inside the metal teeth.

The chamber they had walked into was high-ceilinged, but not as large as the Market. Water spilled from the jagged rock overhead, emptying into a square pool across the way. Twigs spotted a column, just like the trap behind them, standing at attention near a stone step.

Movement to his right drew his attention. A Falmer loped past, out of a hut, oblivious to Aldric's presence mere feet in front of him. Not bothering to wait for orders, Raj followed the creature and pulled one of his daggers from his hip. He abruptly grabbed the Falmer's jaw, and before it could struggle, he slashed its throat.

Blackish-red blood sprayed the floor as the creature dropped. It writhed on the stone for a few seconds, and then went still. Raj reached down to clean his dagger on the body.

Aldric watched him, face dark with wrath. He strode over to the Khajiit, moving quickly and with purpose. Before he could reach him, there was a crackling sound, and Raj was blown off his feet.

Bolts of blue-white lightning wreathed his body as he hit the ground. He twitched and jerked, fighting to roll to his side, and was hit again with another blast. Raj's spine went rigid, his hands clawing at the stone beneath him. Twigs saw that his eyes had rolled back into his head, lids fluttering.

Aldric had thrown himself out of the way, and Twigs watched him leap forward to a Falmer that had been out of their line of sight. In the back of his mind, he noted that it was a female, and that in her hand she held a staff of some kind.

She registered Aldric coming at her at the last second, and turned to brandish the staff at him. He was too quick for that, however, and ripped it away from her. When the Falmer tried to slash at him with a dagger, he wrapped a hand around her frail upper arm and threw her to the floor. She lost her grip on her weapon.

Scorch marks painting the breastplate of his armor, Raj flailed on the ground, trying to stand. He managed to sit up, and he watched the female Falmer at his feet with murder in his eyes.

He hissed to his brother. "_Var dar jajo, aaliter!_ Kill her!"

Khal walked forward, sword drawn.

"No!" Aldric snarled. "Leave her."

Even Brynjolf stepped forward, looking concerned. "Aldric…"

He bent and grabbed the female Falmer by the arms, hauling her upright. She shrieked and thrashed, but he didn't let go. "Open that gate," he ordered Brynjolf, jerking his head to the left.

To the side, two massive, black, wasp-like creatures—some kind of chaurus, Twigs thought—were penned inside a gated area. They bobbed through the air aggressively as Brynjolf approached, and one even lashed out at him from behind the gate with a barbed pincer.

"It's locked," he announced.

"Pick it."

Looking unhappy, Brynjolf pulled out his tools and went to work on it. Only a moment later, Twigs heard the click indicating that it had been unlocked.

Aldric dragged the Falmer, who was still fighting as best she could in his grip, to the gate. He threw his shoulder into it, and the gate swung open, knocking aside one of the chaurus. The Falmer was thrown roughly inside, and she slammed into the wall before scrambling to her feet.

Together, Brynjolf and Aldric pulled the barred doors shut, and Brynjolf used his tools to re-lock the gate. Once it was secure, they both backed away. The female inside was growling low and viciously, almost sounding like she was speaking.

"Mind telling me what that was about?"

"She's not dangerous without this." Aldric strode over to where he'd dropped the staff. Raj bent to pick it up, but Aldric kicked it away from him. It slid several feet before slipping into the pool of water.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Brynjolf interjected, with a look to the locked gate. "And that won't hold her for very long."

Aldric didn't say anything. Suddenly, Twigs realized that was what he had intended. Aldric was going to let the female escape after they'd left—and somehow, his respect for the man rose. He wondered if Aldric hoped the Falmer would make it back to the first chamber of the Market, where the two infants were.

Raj was still glaring at the Falmer, and Aldric noticed. He lunged at the Khajiit, his hand grabbing the lip of his breastplate near his throat. He jerked Raj once, roughly, and then shoved him backward to fall against his brother. Khal caught him, and Raj made a small sound of pain.

Aldric's eyes dropped to his ruined armor. "Hurts, does it?" He jabbed a finger at the mercenary. "Do something like that again without my word, and I'll kill you myself."

Then he turned to the rest of the group. "Behind that bridge is the Centurion. Anyone who wants to fight it, come with me."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **Oh man. I owe all of you a huge thank-you for being so incredibly patient. I know it's been more than a week since the last update, and I imagine that was a bit confusing since I've been giving you guys updates either daily or once every other day. And yet, there was not one demanding review, PM, or email. You have no idea how much that means to me!

On my blog, I've posted a little letter about what's going on with the update speed. Unfortunately, after the next chapter is published, we'll be hitting the spot where I ran into writer's block. I don't want anyone to worry, and it's all explained in the letter! (Just click on the 'archive' link on the bottom of the blog to find the note I posted for you guys.) I might have to put this story on temporary hiatus while I write more, we'll see.

Now, let's get to the robot ass-kicking.

* * *

**Chapter 16**

Before the Centurion could be dealt with, the gears that operated the bridge needed to be fixed.

Aldric caught Tinúviel's gaze and nodded her over. "Bring Twigs and Patric and see if you can find a way to repair the gears."

She nodded. She wasn't stupid; Aldric's eyes were angry enough to keep her from asking any questions.

"What does he want?" Patric asked nervously when she returned.

"The three of us are supposed to take a look at those gears," she told the mage. She was getting tired of the way Patric grew more frightened and unsteady with each hour that passed.

"Why?" Patric looked behind him. "Why can they not do it?"

Tinúviel looked over her shoulder. Aldric was speaking to Brynjolf, Kaspar, Raj, Khal, and Lyssa, and his face was very serious and intense. "I imagine he's going over strategy with them, Patric. I don't think the Centurion can be unleashed until the gears are fixed."

"Tinúviel's right," Twigs chimed in. He gestured to the tall, golden metal of the gate across from the water. "The gears must lower that bridge, and I'd bet the Centurion is behind it. The Dwemer left one at each entrance to Blackreach as sentries, of a sort."

He looked uncertain, but Patric followed her out. Tinúviel made for the gear directly ahead of her. "Something is jammed here."

"Is that… is that a human bone?" Patric's face had gone white as fresh snow as he stared at the obstruction.

Tinúviel peered at it. "It would appear so. Maybe a leg. Do you want to pull it out, or shall I?" she asked Twigs.

"No," Twigs answered, wrapping his hands around the bone. "I will do it."

He tugged. It loosened by a fraction, and the gear began to squeal and vibrate, coming to a complete halt. Twigs braced his feet and let out a grunt as he pulled again, and the bone ripped free. He dropped it to the ground with a clatter, and the gear began to roll smoothly.

Patric stared down at the bone. "Why would that have been there?"

Tinúviel looked at him sidelong. She wondered how the mage would react if he ever got a closer glimpse of the small totems that the Falmer had a penchant for placing around their territories.

The grim little stakes that were driven into the ground to signal the creatures' presence looked almost like a flower, or a sculpture at first—until one realized that they were created from a human pelvis, festooned with a few ribs for decoration. Utterly charming, really.

She took off for the left side of the chamber, where another jammed gear waited. The trapped female Falmer, who had fallen silent until now, growled at her as she passed her.

"Oh, shut it," she snapped.

A skull blocked the second gear. Tinúviel tried to pull it out by the eye sockets, but couldn't get a secure grip. She settled for wrapping her hands around the top of the skull, and after a moment it popped free.

Tinúviel walked back to Twigs, Patric in tow. "The third gear is working."

He frowned up at the one behind Aldric. "What's wrong with this one? I can't see anything here."

She observed it. "Neither can I."

"There." Patric pointed into the pool of water from where he stood next to the gear Tinúviel had loosened. "There's a gear in the water."

She crossed the floor back to where Patric was. The mage was right. Just visible through the water was a gear that none of them had seen yet, and she laughed. "Oh, that's going to feel nice."

Twigs raised a brow. "What is?"

"Someone needs to go into that water."

Patric and Twigs looked at each other and then back at her. A long moment passed as they all silently watched one another.

Twigs watched her with wide eyes as she started pulling off her boots. "What are you doing?"

"Going in," she muttered. "Since neither of you sods will."

"No, don't." He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Then he sighed. "I'll do it."

Not one to turn down the opportunity to skip something unpleasant, she jammed her feet back into her boots. Her bare feet had already begun to sting from the chill of the stone floor beneath her.

In front of Aldric, Brynjolf looked over at Twigs with a grin, no doubt knowing full well what was about to happen. Twigs turned away from Tinúviel, pulling his leather jacket off and the tunic beneath it. His trousers were last.

She could feel the tips of her ears burning as she took a quick glance at him; only his smallclothes remained. The back of him was just as nice as the front of him had been, Tinúviel noticed.

Twigs hissed as he began to walk down the short set of steps into the pool. Then he took a deep breath and dove forward, completely submerging himself. Tinúviel could barely pick out his form under the water.

The gear above him complained loudly, and it began to spin at almost the exactly same moment that his head popped up.

"That's done it," Tinúviel called out to him.

He stumbled up the steps to where his armor lay. His teeth chattered together as he inserted his legs into his trousers. For a moment, he fought to push the buttons through their holes, but his fingers didn't seem to want to cooperate. She watched him struggle for a moment before striding forward.

Her hand felt impossibly warm against his slick back. "Here, let me help."

"No." He tried to turn away.

She scowled at him. Before he could get away, she reached forward and pulled at his pants. Her nimble fingers fastened the first button and moved onto the second.

His face as red as her hair, Twigs managed to get into his cuirass without assistance. Patric held out his boots for him, and he sat on the ground to put them on. "We should go back into the gated area. They'll want to pull the bridge down now."

Patric's mouth dropped open a little, and then he took off for the gates. Tinúviel watched him go, smirking at the way his robes flapped with his urgency.

"Do you wish you could fight the Centurion with them?" she asked Twigs suddenly.

He looked up at her, surprised. "No. Do you?"

She grinned. "Maybe."

"Then why don't you?"

"Why don't you?" She crossed her arms. "Aren't all Nords supposed to be fearless warriors?"

He shook his head, chuckling, as he pulled himself to his feet. "I'd rather take on an undiscovered cave than a giant steam-powered automaton."

Tinúviel softened. "That's what we're about to do, isn't it?"

"That's what I keep telling myself." He rubbed his head. She'd noticed that his hair had grown from what had once been dark stubble. She wondered if it was soft now.

Aldric caught his gaze then, sharply gesturing for him to get behind the gates. She and Twigs obeyed, joining Patric before closing the doors behind them. All three of them stood just behind the metal slats, waiting to see the fabled Centurion.

Kaspar pushed the button. For a brief second, nothing happened. Then bridge shuddered and began to crank forward, slowly, like it was tired of opening. Behind it was the Centurion. Tinúviel leaned forward eagerly to see it.

The machine towered over any enemy it might face, rising what looked like more than ten feet from the ground. Like many of the Dwemer's automatons, it bore the severe, unsympathetic likeness of those that had created it. Its body was thick and imposing, crafted of solid metal.

Similar to the nasty rolling contraptions—Spheres, Aldric called them—each arm ended in a weapon. On its left, it grasped a cruel-looking version of a dwarven battleaxe; on its right, a vicious warhammer.

Twigs had told her that the Centurion had another nasty surprise in its arsenal—once close enough, it could deliver a punishing blast of steam that was hot enough to instantly blister exposed flesh.

The bridge settled into place, and the Centurion was released from the framework that held it prisoner. Steam hissed as the knobs and screws retreated, and the Centurion took its first step toward them.

It hesitated, as if it were taking the measure of the group. Then it took a second step, and a third. Tinúviel thought it walked in a terrifying, unnatural way—when its left foot struck out, its body swayed and rolled to the right, and the opposite occurred for the right foot. It approached in its oddly smooth lurching fashion, gaining speed with each step.

"Don't let it corner you!" she heard Aldric yell.

When it had reached the end of the bridge and began to cross over onto the stone, the group fanned out. Lyssa immediately trotted backward and let her first arrow fly. It plinked harmlessly off the chest of the Centurion. Undeterred, she nocked another arrow.

Before her, Raj and Khal fanned out. Aldric, Kaspar, and Brynjolf gave them the room to do it, and the two Khajiit began to close the distance between them and the Centurion. Raj moved forward, and even despite his injuries it was like watching liquid steel ripple.

They struck as one, beginning to dance around the machine, each lashing out blows one after the other. The Centurion paused, turning this way and that, as if unsure of which target to pick. Khal's greatsword swept out at one of its knees from behind, and the machine staggered.

Raj was unlucky enough to cross in front of it just as it had turned around. Steam shrieked and billowed from the Centurion, and Raj yelped as he spun backward out of reach. Kaspar rushed forward to help him, attempting to pull him aside, and the Centurion struck.

Its battleaxe slammed into the scout, striking him with the flat of the weapon, sending both Kaspar and Raj flying. Raj crumpled to the ground, rolling, but Kaspar slid motionlessly off the bridge into the water below.

Tinúviel gasped when Lyssa let out a little cry. Completely losing her head, Lyssa dropped her bow and ran full tilt at where Kaspar had gone down. Aldric lunged for her, trying to grab her arm, and she darted agilely out of the way.

The Centurion spotted her. Khal hacked at it from behind, but it stomped forward to her, its hammer raised high in the air for a killing blow. Aldric's blade was suddenly there, and he unleashed a feral scream into the air as he put all of his strength into a parry.

The hammer barely flinched as it came down, but it hit Lyssa with a glancing blow instead of crushing her head. Patric jumped next to Twigs, and then the mage was off and running toward Lyssa before he could react.

He crouched next to the archer, and grabbed her by the right hand, trying to pull her up. Face twisted in pain, she tried to roll to her good side to stand. Neither of them ever saw what came at them.

The Centurion's battleaxe whistled through the air before burying itself in Patric's back. Lyssa screamed as blood spattered her face; her white-blond hair was streaked with red. She screamed again, her arms shielding her head as she tried to get out from under Patric's body.

Twigs turned to Tinúviel at the last possible second before she, too, ran to help. He caught her around the waist, and she writhed in his grasp. "Let me go!" she demanded. "The more of us that can distract it, the quicker we can bring it down!"

"No!" he yelled harshly. "Let them handle it, they know what they're doing! _Look_, Tinúviel, damn you!"

She stopped for a second, and they both looked out ahead.

Aldric, Brynjolf, and Khal were still fighting the Centurion. Torn between targets and too slow to block each hit, the machine looked to be losing, and fast. The steam that powered it was beginning to stutter from its exhaust ports.

Finally, Aldric brought it down by severing its left arm. The Centurion went limp immediately, as if its life force had been sucked out of it, and hit the ground with a thunderous crash.

Twigs' hands slackened on her upper arms, but he didn't let go. She stayed pressed against him, unwilling to give up the solid feel of him at her back. Khal was at his brother's side already, helping him to sit up. Raj looked disoriented, but Twigs couldn't see any blood.

Aldric was splashing down into the pool, going for Kaspar. Twigs finally moved away, and the two of them trotted over to help Aldric and Brynjolf. The scout had managed to partially get onto the submerged set of stairs, and he shook water from his head as Aldric gently pulled him up.

He coughed as they rolled him to rest on his back. "Why do I always find myself attacked by large, angry creatures whenever you are near?"

Aldric forced a laugh, but his eyes were concerned. "Wasn't my fault this time."

"It was the same shoulder."

Aldric's hand gently touched Kaspar's left shoulder. "How does it feel?"

"It hurts, but I do not believe the bone has slipped the socket again." The scout tried for a grin, but it came out as a grimace. "The archer. She is unhurt?"

All three of them turned to look. Twigs had knelt to reach out to a sobbing Lyssa near the Centurion. Patric's body, nearly cleaved in two, rested not far from them. Tinúviel glimpsed the unreal whiteness of exposed bone within a mess of shredded flesh, and she shut her eyes and looked away.

Aldric was looking at Patric as well, his face grim. "He would be alive, and Lyssa unhurt, if both of them had not broken formation."

"Lyssa was trying to help Kaspar, and Patric was trying to protect her," Tinúviel pointed out.

"Patric had no business doing that," Aldric shot back hotly. "And Kaspar can take care of himself, he didn't need the help."

"Kaspar is not so sure of that," said Kaspar.

Aldric stood and paced away to where his sword lay on the ground. "This is what I meant when I spoke of keeping your head. If you act on instinct and impulse, you will lose your life inside of Blackreach the way Patric lost his today."

No one spoke after that. For the first time, they believed him.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** I almost didn't post today, since the 4th is a holiday and I figured everyone else would be busy, but then I remembered not all of my readers are American! Thank you for the understanding reviews - and this might make me a bad person, but your review made me laugh, **Scythe**.

With this chapter, I'm going to put it into hiatus, but I'm also going to be working hard on new material. Thank you so much for being understanding, you guys really are the best. I love all of you.

* * *

**Chapter 17**

Twigs stood with Lyssa in the final chamber of Raldbthar. Before them was a lift that would take the passenger back to the surface of Skyrim, and Tinúviel was doing her best to convince Lyssa to take it.

The archer stood next to him, resolutely shaking her head. "No. I will not. I have made it this far," she insisted. "I can do the rest."

Tinúviel exchanged a worried look with him. The Bosmer was still shaking, tremors wracking her body. They had cleaned the blood from her face and neck, but it still stained her tunic, and it had begun to dry in her hair.

Twigs left the two of them to argue, and crossed the dim room to find Aldric. The other man was inside a small room that had suffered dramatic damage, filled with rocky rubble. He was examining some kind of glowing fragment of something, and Brynjolf stood next to him, peering at it intensely.

"You have to make Lyssa leave," he announced flatly.

Aldric rolled his eyes up to him for a moment, and then looked back at what he was holding. "I can't make her do anything."

"Yes, you can." Twigs wanted to snatch the object away from him and hurl it to the floor. "You're the captain."

"And why is it so important that she leave?" Aldric asked him. "Her injuries are not bad."

"She's traumatized," he retorted angrily. "If she stays on, she'll be worse than useless in Blackreach—we'll all have to look after her and make sure she doesn't wander off a cliff in the state she's in now."

"Why doesn't she want to leave?" Brynjolf inquired.

"I don't know for sure." Twigs turned around, frustrated, trying to get a glimpse of her. He could hear the two women talking, and Lyssa's tone was still quarrelsome.

"Perhaps she doesn't want to forfeit the payout," the thief suggested.

"I don't think it's that. I think it's Kaspar."

That drew Aldric's gaze to him again. "Kaspar?" he repeated, puzzled.

Twigs shrugged. "I think Lyssa is sweet on him. She went after him when the Centurion struck him down."

"Patric went after Lyssa," Aldric said, unconvinced.

"And Patric was sweet on _her_," Twigs pointed out.

Letting out a sound of impatience, Aldric pushed past him to exit the room. Twigs followed him, and they both watched Lyssa for a moment.

Aldric shook his head. "I think you make too much of this."

"Are we watching the same person?" Twigs rubbed the top of his head in aggravation.

"A man died on top of her not an hour ago." Aldric turned his gaze on him. "His hot blood sprayed onto her face, in her eyes, into her mouth. That will take time to recover from. You can't assume she's not as strong as any of the rest of us just because she's a woman."

"That's not what—"

"Give her water," he interrupted. "Anything stronger, if you have it. Let her sit in a quiet area alone. Stop speaking to her. If she hasn't improved by the time I'm ready to move on, I will put her on the lift."

Mouth tight, he walked away from Aldric toward Lyssa and Tinúviel. He wasn't convinced that that would be enough to help the archer, but he trusted Aldric's judgment—for the most part.

After Lyssa had been tucked into a quiet corner with her water skin, Tinúviel pulled him aside. "What will be done with Patric's body?"

"We're to leave him where he is for now," he told her resignedly. "Brynjolf said we would come back for him when we've made it out of Blackreach."

"If he's still there," she muttered.

He looked down at her. "What do you mean?"

Tinúviel spoke while watching Lyssa across the room. "Did you see the body in the Deep Market? The Nord woman? There were hunks of raw meat on a pillar near where she was. I don't want to think too deeply on it, but I wouldn't bet that it was beef."

Twigs strained his memory. "No, I didn't see that," he admitted.

Both of them fell into silence. Twigs remembered the captive Falmer behind them, and what she might do to the corpse of her enemy when she discovered it. He knew that Raldbthar was vast, even greater than the areas they had explored. More Falmer were certain to inhabit the sections inaccessible to them.

_Arkay, watch over Patric_, he prayed.

* * *

Aldric was right. Lyssa had rallied. However disconcerting it was to look at her and see her determined face surrounded by hair that looked like it was crusted with watery, reddish-brown mud, she had chosen to stay.

Everyone had gathered behind Aldric, who was standing behind the final set of doors separating them from Blackreach. Each of them stood watching their captain, hardly breathing, hearts pounding.

He opened the doors and stepped out.

Kaspar was second, right behind him, followed by Raj and Khal. Lyssa and Brynjolf stepped around Twigs when he didn't move, passing easily from the corridor into their first steps on Blackreach soil.

Tinúviel was the only one left. She waited next to him, on his right. At the same time, they turned their heads and looked at one another. Her ruby eyes flicked back and forth between his own. He had the absurd impulse to grab her hand.

Then she was off, walking into the cavern. He followed her, hearing the shallow roar of his heartbeat in his ears. His boots came down on the stone floor—two steps, then three, then four—and then they sank into black, spongy earth.

The first thing Twigs noticed was a mushroom next to him. He laughed when he realized he had to crane his neck to look up at it—it was taller than he was. It glowed, too, pale blue and beautiful.

Ahead of them, standing on the very lip of the stone platform, Aldric looked out into Blackreach. The rest of the team had fanned out in a line, each of them wanting to see for themselves. Like he was in a daze, Twigs walked up to get his own look at the cavern.

Blackreach was vast, bigger than he could have ever imagined. His eyes could not see the opposite end of the cave—whether that was due to the glowing mist or the sheer, infinite distance, he didn't know.

Much the same as in the Deep Market, a green-blue mist filled the air, heavy like the clouds that hung low in the mountains of the Reach. Unlike the Market, however, the mist almost seemed to be a source of light.

"It's cold," he said out loud to no one.

Something drifted past his face, and he moved back a little, focusing his eyes. A tiny pale piece of something, impossibly delicate, danced through the air like a dust mote. He cupped his palm to catch it, and as soon as it touched his warm skin, it dissolved into nothingness.

More floated past, and Twigs realized that hundreds of them were carried on the currents created by the mist. The way they soared and pulsed through the cave suggested that the air they breathed was both heavier and lighter than on the surface.

Hundreds of feet above them, a strange sort of starlight winked down. It seemed as if multicolored jewels glimmered shyly in the darkness; green and white-blue and even a few scattered gold coins sewn into a cloak of pure black. There were thousands of them.

Twigs simply gaped at it for a long moment before realizing it was the ceiling of the cave. Stretching down from the rock were long, tapering tentacles of some kind of plant matter. Just like the mushroom, they were lit from within.

Not far from where they stood, more of the tentacles rose from the ground far below them. Grouped together, they swayed to and fro, gently, like they were trapped inside a lazy underwater current. Twigs could hear the gentle creak of them as they moved, and he wondered what they felt like. They glowed so brilliantly that he wondered if they would shock his hand with energy if he were to touch one.

Aldric had been right about their position upon exiting Raldbthar. It was advantageous. They stood at the foot of one of several ramps and archways that connected more stone towers. The paths created a sort of network of bridges, and Twigs risked another step to the very edge of the platform he was on for a look below.

Far beneath them was a broad, shallow lagoon. From where he stood, he could glimpse a few impressive waterfalls emptying into it. The sound and sight of the water tightened his throat, and he suddenly became very aware of the dirt and sweat that had accumulated on his body during their time inside Raldbthar.

"It does not matter how many times I have been inside this place," Aldric broke his trance, his voice low and reverent, "because every time I see it feels like the first time."

Twigs couldn't tear his eyes away from the scenery in front of him. "It makes me feel better that you're as affected by this as I am."

"Always."

A sound to his left made him look away, finally. He was surprised to see that he and Aldric were the only ones still standing there, gazing out upon the cavern. Raj and Khal were rummaging through their packs, Kaspar was sitting cross-legged on the ground with his eyes closed, and Brynjolf had drifted back near the doors to look at a chest off the entrance.

Tinúviel and Lyssa were missing. His heart seemed to flutter for a second until he found the two of them. The archer was following Tinúviel as she made her way over to a locked gate, similar to the one the Falmer mage had been trapped in.

A delighted curse from Brynjolf drew the Khajiit brother's attention, and the two of them walked over to investigate what he'd found inside the chest. After a moment, Kaspar opened his eyes and joined them.

"The cave doesn't interest them at all." He shook his head.

Aldric looked over his shoulder with a smirk. "That's typical of Brynjolf."

"I would have thought Kaspar might be intrigued," Twigs reflected.

"He is, in a way. There'll be time for us to explore more thoroughly later."

"That may not be a very good idea." The thought of the team ambling around Blackreach unsettled him. "We've made it here. We should finish the job as quickly as possible and get back to higher ground."

Aldric turned back from the view. "I didn't mean everyone, just Kaspar and I."

Twigs frowned. "Why do you need to do that?"

"It's been a long while since I've been here, and I need to refresh my memory of all the deadly things that want to kill us in horrible ways," he elaborated cheerfully, clapping him on the shoulder. "And it will give the team a chance to get used to Blackreach. Their eyes need to adjust." With that, he walked over to join the others looking over Brynjolf's find.

Just then, a fearful shriek pierced the stillness.

Twigs flinched, looking to his left. Tinúviel had been successful in opening the locked gate, but she stood frozen just outside of the spot within, looking over her shoulder. Lyssa was right next to her, and she screamed again.

Behind the two women, a thin waterfall spilled from the ceiling above them, spraying more mist than water. Through the billowing fog, a Falmer had spotted them and was quickly approaching, its lips pulled back in a feral snarl.

Lyssa, acting on pure instinct, threw herself inside of the gated area and shoved the two doors shut, shielding herself from the Falmer. Unfortunately, she had not thought to pull Tinúviel in with her, and the elf was left stranded on the wrong side of the gate, blinking in surprise.

Dimly aware that Aldric and the others were rounding the corner too slowly, Twigs ran to Tinúviel. She had drawn a dagger and was facing the Falmer. The creature circled her, its rasping, grating voice growling at her. He sprang at her, his sword aiming to bite deep into Tinúviel's belly. She was faster than he was, though, and she scurried backward out of his reach, her eyes wide.

Twigs had never been a brave man, and he'd never been a fighter, but neither of those things occurred to him at the moment. Putting on a burst of speed, he bulled into the Falmer, putting his shoulder into the creature with the sole intention of getting it away from Tinúviel as quickly as he could.

It was surprisingly effective. The Falmer hit the ground with a yelp, and Tinúviel shocked him by leaping forward and driving her dagger between its shoulder blades. She savagely pulled the blade out and moved back as it staggered to its feet.

Twigs took her side, and together they faced the creature. It scuttled back a ways and drew a bow from its back. Before it could nock an arrow, there was a fierce grunt from Tinúviel, and the hilt of her dagger was suddenly sprouting from the Falmer's chest.

Its head slowly tilted down, as if it could see the blade. Then he fell backward and began to roll, headed directly for the end of the narrow cliff to plunge into the lake below.

"My dagger!" Tinúviel cried, and she lunged forward.

Splashing through the stream beneath the waterfall, she tripped and went down on her hands and knees. Water flew as she frantically chased the Falmer's body before it could drop from the ledge. Twigs immediately saw that she was moving too fast; if she made a grab for the creature and missed, her own momentum would carry her over to follow it.

He swore and went for her. The second he entered the stream, his bad ankle—the one he'd broken almost ten years ago—went out, buckling as his foot awkwardly rolled off a slippery rock. Twigs gasped in pain, collapsing to his knee, but he threw himself forward.

His hand curled securely around her belt just as she began to slide off the cliff. Very far below them, he heard a thud and a splash as the Falmer hit the water. Tinúviel floundered, splashing furiously as she tried to find a handhold.

Alarmed, Twigs realized their combined weight was beginning to pull them both over. He grabbed at a rock, but it sucked free of the mud holding it, and the jolt sent them further toward the drop.

Then he felt himself being roughly dragged backward, over the rocks. He gritted his teeth when his shoulder slammed hard into a jagged stone, and tightened his grip on Tinúviel's belt as he went.

Aldric hauled them both out of the stream and threw them onto the dirt beside it. Behind him, Kaspar stood with his bow in his hand. Twigs looked at the other side of the stream, where a second Falmer lay inside of its camouflaged hut. A red-tipped steel arrow was buried in its side.

Tinúviel rolled to her hands and knees and coughed, hacking up water. She was soaked. Black, velvety soil smeared across her wet skin, and she rubbed at her eyes. Her red, water-darkened hair was plastered to the side of her face.

"Why…" Twigs gasped for air, "did you have to go after it? You can buy a thousand new daggers when we get out of here!"

"You wouldn't understand," she snapped. She collapsed onto her front, burying her head in her arms.

Supremely annoyed, he got to his knees and attempted to stand. As soon as he tried to put weight onto his right ankle, however, he yelped and went down again. Twigs jerked up his pant leg to see that his ankle was already starting to swell, a faint purple bruise blossoming.

"Wonderful," Aldric growled, grabbing him and yanking him up. He slung his arm around Twigs and with his support, he managed to hobble back to Raldbthar's exit.

Brynjolf gave a low whistle at the sight of him. "Already found some trouble, lad?"

"Blame it on Lyssa and Tinúviel," he muttered peevishly. "Lyssa brought down two Falmer on their heads, and Tinúviel decided to dive off a waterfall."

"This," Kaspar observed with a sigh, "is not beginning in a very favorable manner."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **I think I can confidently say that the hiatus is over now, though updates might be a bit rocky while I get things smoothed out. Thank you so much for being awesome and patient and sexy while I worked through this. On that note, I bring you offerings of Friday smut! Which officially pushes the rating to M.

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Twigs winced as his fingers slipped off the edge of the heavy, solid metal doors. Despite his best efforts, they still closed with a _clung_ that seemed to echo around the lagoon and the rocky cliffs it was nestled in. A moment passed, and when no one came to investigate the sound, he turned around and hobbled out further onto the cold stone stoop.

As cold as the stone was, he knew the water would be nearly as bad. He took a step or two down the set of stairs, and hissed when the first touch of water lapped at his skin. Another step, and it surged halfway to his knee.

Twigs sighed. That was the real benefit of being in the water. Washing the dirt and sweat from his body was a distant second to the wonderful chill that soothed his bruised and swollen ankle.

The building he had just come out of had once been a pumping station, according to Aldric. Long broken down—if the natural lake he was submerged in was any evidence—it now served as a makeshift base for the team to camp in while they waited for him to heal.

He was relieved to be out of it, even if it was for a little while. There was a great deal of water inside the station, forcing them to cram together on the dry surfaces, and the machinery inside was so loud that they all had to shout over it. The quiet outside could have been considered eerie, but he was enjoying it too much to be unsettled by it.

Once he was all the way in the water, it wasn't so bad, Twigs reflected. He dunked his head under and scrubbed at the scratchy hair on his head; it was more than stubble now, but it wasn't soft yet. When he surfaced, he licked at the water droplets on his lips. The mineral-heavy taste of it was something he'd already gotten used to.

He kicked away from the stone steps near the doors, moving out into the small lake. Spending his early years in Riverwood had ensured that his father had seen him grow up a strong swimmer, and his body automatically fell into the motions he'd learned so long ago.

Twigs took a breath and dove for the bottom of the lagoon. It wasn't very deep, measuring no more than twelve or thirteen feet at the lowest point, and he spent a few minutes seeing how long he could hold his breath.

Straining to touch a rock before he had to return for air, something moved next to his hand, and he flinched. Buffeted by his movement, the object stirred and rolled along the sandy floor. Afraid he wouldn't find again it if he surfaced now, he reached out and grabbed it before swimming upward.

Paddling toward a small patch of land near a waterfall, he pulled himself up on the soil and looked down at what he'd grabbed. It was a dagger, but not like any he'd ever seen. The steel blade was long and wickedly sharp, with a delicate curve. He could feel that the hilt had been custom-weighted to fit someone's hand, and one side of the slim crossguard swept up in an exotic crescent-moon fashion onto the blade.

"Impressive," he said out loud.

The blade was more than impressive, if he was honest with himself. Looking at it with an appraising eye, he could see that the dagger was very old; and, judging by the ornamental yellow-green and gold carvings all over the handle, it was costly. It was the kind of dagger he might have found in a tomb belonging to a noble's family.

Frowning, he flipped it over and squinted at the blade. If it _had_ belonged to a member of nobility, then the family surname likely would have been emblazoned somewhere on the weapon.

Darker silver etchings swept up the bottom half of the weapon, decorative and graceful like a long swath of a flowering vine. Twigs rubbed his thumb along it, wiping silt and mud from the blade. Carved amid the swirls were two elegantly inscribed words.

_House Indoril._

Twigs scoured his memory. The name was Elven, he was sure of that, but Mer history wasn't one of his strong suits. He had rarely ventured from Skyrim on any of his jobs, and his father had always preferred to stay in the country.

"It'll come to me," he said to the dagger.

"Who are you talking to?"

Twigs jumped, sending the dagger flying to his left. Heart pounding, he whipped his head around to find Tinúviel treading water not five feet from his tiny perch.

"_Stop_… sneaking up on me!" he sputtered.

She grinned, and Twigs had the feeling sneaking up on him was something she very much enjoyed. "I'd finally drifted off to sleep, and then you slammed a door next to my head," she shot back. "I can't help it that I'm curious to see where you go whenever you try to slink off alone."

He frowned indignantly. "I didn't slam the door. And if you try to follow me every time I go off alone, I won't be able to relieve myself the entire time we're in this cavern."

Tinúviel smirked. "You're not relieving yourself. You're sitting next to some mushrooms, talking to yourself. You're not… _eating_ them, are you? You have no idea what those plants might do to you."

"No, I am not eating these mushrooms. I found…" he drifted off, looking around for the blade he'd dropped. "I found this at the bottom of the lake. It looks very old, there's no way to know how long it's—"

He flinched again at the loud, shocked gasp she gave. "My dagger!" Water flew as she lurched toward him, scrambling up onto the dirt with her arm outstretched. "Give it to me!"

Feeling stupid, he handed it over. "I should've known, you lost it only a day or two ago. The Falmer must have fallen somewhere near here."

Tinúviel's eyes roamed all over the weapon, and her thumbs swept over the blade, clearing it of debris. "I thought I'd lost this forever," she murmured. Her voice was low and thick.

He watched her. "I can see why you were upset. That's quite a blade."

"Yes."

"Do you…" he cleared his throat. "Do you mind if I ask you where it's from?"

He knew he'd make a mistake somehow when she glared up at him with narrowed eyes. "I didn't _steal_ _it_, if that's what you mean."

"No, that's not what I meant." He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure. She always made him so unsure. "It's clearly an heirloom, so I wondered if it was from your family."

The hard set of her mouth softened. "I don't know where it's from," she admitted. "My father had it tucked away under the floorboards beneath his bed. I found it after he died."

"He never said anything about it? About that family?" he asked.

She shook her head. "For a long time, I used to dream that it was my mother's. There was a ribbon kept with it, like something a woman would give to a man." Tinúviel looked down at the dagger again, and then covered the blade with her hand so that the words were hidden.

"You don't think it belonged to her anymore?"

She shook her head. "No. House Indoril is a very great family. And I'm the daughter of a poor thief who drank himself to death. For all I know, my father stole this dagger from someone important and kept it as a trophy."

"I suppose that's possible," he allowed.

Twigs wanted to chime in with a few theories of his own, but the look in her eyes stopped him. All at once, she looked sad, lost, and uncertain—the very definition of vulnerability. Struck by Tinúviel, of all people, being vulnerable, he closed his mouth.

The muted roar of the waterfall nearby was the only sound for several long moments. Twigs watched Tinúviel stare into the lagoon. He wanted to say so many things, but he couldn't put any of them into words when he tried.

She broke the silence, so softly Twigs almost missed it. "Do you think about it?"

"Think about what?"

"Patric," she replied. "How he died."

He did. Sometimes. Mostly, he thought about how he looked away at nearly the exact second the Centurion's axe sank into Patric's spine like he was made of soft cheese. He thought about the way he had felt Tinúviel jerk under his hands when it happened, and how closely it mirrored the way the rope—his father's rope—had snapped.

He finally answered with, "I try not to."

"I can't seem to stop." She gave a breathy, embarrassed chuckle, reaching up to brush a lock of hair from her eyes, and he saw how her hand shook.

Twigs started to reach out to her, but then stopped. "I think…" he started, "I think that we might be all right if we listen to Aldric. Besides the traps and the Falmer, Raldbthar was just walls around us and floor beneath us. Now that we're inside Blackreach… it's different. You can feel it, can't you?"

Tinúviel looked up, her ruby eyes traveling all over the roof of the cavern. "We all can. We can feel how enormous this place is, how dangerous. Even Raj and Khal have been subdued. I would almost mock their sudden lack of bravery if I didn't feel the same way myself. This place…"

She didn't have to finish her sentence. Even Aldric treated Blackreach with the respect it deserved, and they'd all noticed. The two days they'd spent inside the pumping station had shown them.

Tinúviel looked down at the dagger in her hand. "I almost want to put this back into the lake. The thought of losing it terrified me, but now I've realized I've been holding onto this for so many years for nothing."

He gently closed her fingers back over it. "You should keep it. One day you'll find out what it means. It could be nothing, but it might be everything."

She fell quiet again. He pulled his hand back. Then she looked up at him. The angle of the otherworldly glow of the water around them cast alien shadows across the fine bones of her face. The gentle bow of her small, full lips looked carved from some rare stone.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for finding this. Thank you for knowing what to say."

He almost laughed at that. He never knew what to say around Tinúviel. Most of the time, he felt like things simply tumbled from his mouth before he could catch them. He started to make a joke about that, and then Tinúviel rose up on her knees and quickly leaned toward him.

She must have been aiming to kiss him on the cheek, but because of her fast movement, his reflexes kicked in. He found himself half-turned, holding her shoulders in his hands, and her mouth landed on the corner of his.

They both froze. Twigs pulled back first, expecting her to start laughing at him, or to launch into an irritated tirade about his clumsiness. Instead, she blinked back at him with wide eyes. Feeling a rush of some kind of insanity, he ran his hands over her shoulders to gently cup her face, and before he could change his mind… he kissed her.

He moved away once he realized her mouth was stiff under his. She gaped at him, eyes even wider than before. "What was that?"

Cheeks hot, he responded sheepishly. "A kiss."

Tinúviel stared at him. "Do it again," she commanded.

Twigs felt like his chest might explode as he leaned toward her again. This time, when their lips met, she moved with him. She kissed him back tentatively, slowly, small flutters of touch against his mouth.

His hand almost entirely circled her throat where he rested it on the side of her neck, and his thumb caressed her jaw. He marveled at how soft her skin was under his hands and his mouth.

Abruptly, Tinúviel climbed onto his lap. He broke the kiss when he felt her seat herself securely against his hips, flushing again. "I don't…"

"You don't what?" she asked him. She picked his hand up and clapped it over her breast. For the first time, he noticed she was wearing only her thin tunic and smallclothes.

Twigs felt his heart grind to a stop, and then start up again three times faster. "Nothing," he replied meekly.

"That's what I thought." She grabbed his other hand and drew it around her waist to rest firmly against her backside, and then dove at his mouth again.

He had to open his eyes for a brief second to make sure he wasn't underwater again. Touching her this way had haunted his dreams since he'd met her, but not once did he think he would have ever gotten the chance to do it.

Her slim arms crept around his neck as she nipped softly at his lower lip. She opened her mouth and their tongues met, and he drifted the hand on her breast lower on her waist. Tinúviel made a soft whimper of protest, and he nudged his hand beneath the damp fabric of her tunic to touch her skin.

When he cupped her bare breast, she moaned and pushed her hips against him. Instinctively, his hand on her ass tightened as she rocked against him. He knew she could feel how aroused he was, but this time he wasn't embarrassed.

Something overtook him. He hardly felt like the gangly, awkward boy he'd always been. He'd never felt manlier when he heard the sound Tinúviel made as he pushed down the thin straps of her tunic and kissed the tops of her breasts.

Her hands held the back of his head as his lips found a nipple. Against the cold air of Blackreach, her skin felt almost hot. Her nails dug into his neck as he drew his tongue over her.

Tinúviel stood up and looked down at Twigs with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, her lips swollen. Her hands made quick work of her clothing, and then her naked body was bared to him.

He barely had time to appreciate her form before she had knelt on the ground in front of him. "Take these off," she ordered him, pulling at his breeches.

"Wait," he blurted, all his earlier confidence disappearing.

She stopped. "What is it?"

He swallowed nervously, looking away. There was no easy way to do this, unless he wanted to give up and go back to the pumping station. "I don't think you'll like this."

Tinúviel's brow rose. "Is something wrong?"

"I… it…" he struggled, looking down.

Her gaze followed his to his pelvis. "Are you trying to tell me something about your manhood?"

Twigs knew his face must have been bright red. "I don't know how to say it."

Instead of coaxing him with her words, she leaned forward to give him a soft kiss. At the same time, she eased his breeches down, and he lifted his hips to help her.

After a moment, she glanced down between them.

"Oh," she said. "_Oh._"

He shifted uncomfortably.

Tinúviel lifted her head and found his eyes. "I presume this has been a problem in the past."

Twigs pressed his lips together and nodded tightly. "By the time I was seventeen or so, I started to realize."

He looked down. He lay long and thick against his thigh, not even as hard as he could get. Even he could admit that a woman might be scared by his sheer size. He remembered how the second girl he had ever rolled around with had gone pale when she'd gotten her first glimpse of him.

"We'll just have to take a little more time, then," she whispered huskily, climbing back onto his lap.

"You don't want to stop?" he asked, surprised.

"I can take you." She pressed a kiss to his throat. "But not just yet."

Twigs closed his eyes, feeling her soft hair brush his chest. "I don't want to hurt you."

He sucked in a sharp breath when he felt her heat press against him. She began to roll her hips, sliding along the length of him—not taking him in, not yet. His arms tightened around her waist as she moved against him again and again. When his mouth fell open, brows furrowed, she bit his ear.

Twigs' eyes flew open as he remembered something from earlier, something Aldric had teased him with. He kissed his way along her jaw, making his way to the side of her head. When Tinúviel leaned over to press her lips against his neck, he seized his moment and grazed his teeth over the very tip of her pointed ear, flicking his tongue over her.

She cried out and buried her face in the crook of his neck, bucking against his him more frantically than before. In only a moment or two, he could feel how wet she was, how easily she slid against him now.

Tinúviel angled herself just right, and when she tilted toward him again, he slipped inside of her. Her mouth dropped open with a little gasp like it was a surprise, wide crimson eyes looking into his.

He was careful to stay still, letting her get used to him. She moved after a moment, and with each gentle rise and fall of her body, she took him in a little further. Tinúviel wrapped her arms around his neck, holding tightly to him as she began to ride him.

She had just started to give him tiny, breathless moans when a long, loud whistle broke the stillness around them. Tinúviel froze. Dazed, Twigs looked around for the source of the noise until he spotted a familiar form in the water near the pumping station.

Kaspar waved one long arm at them, and despite the distance Twigs couldn't miss the broad grin on his face. The scout turned to his side and appeared to be calling another person over.

He felt his face go white. "Oh, no."

Sure enough, Aldric rounded the corner to join Kaspar. Tinúviel gasped, her arms coming up to cross in front of her chest. She stood up and ran for the water, her dark form diving into the murky glow.

"Toss me my clothes!" she hissed at him.

He limped over and gathered up her smalls, standing sideways to shield himself from the two other men. Tinúviel struggled to dress underwater, and he turned to look fruitlessly for his missing breeches.

Laughter echoed distantly across the water to him. Twigs snatched a mushroom from the soil and hurled it in their direction, where it landed in the water halfway between them with a little _bloop_.

"You bastards!"


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **Thank you all for the kind reviews. I am glad to be back! Thank you to guest **JT**, it always makes me happy when new readers stop to take a moment to tell me what they think of the whole 'series' so far. I have a feeling I might be hearing from **Julie5** as well not too long from now! :-)

Next chapter, we'll get some exploring in as Aldric drags Twigs on a little side errand.

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**Chapter 19**

_Three candles. Three Nightingales. _

Aldric woke with a jerk. A powerful surge of panic coursed through him—suddenly, the snug warmth of his bedroll did not seem so comforting. His legs thrashed as he fought to free himself, and finally he scrambled out of it, crawling backward until he felt cold stone underneath himself.

It felt as if he could not draw breath quickly enough. Panting, he looked all around him. The team had crammed into a broken-down pumping station only a stone's throw from Raldbthar's exit into Blackreach. The space inside was barely large enough to accommodate everyone.

He was the only one awake, furthest from the doors. His outburst had not roused anyone, and he slowly forced his body to relax as he leaned against the metal surface behind him.

Nightmares rarely plagued Aldric—the kind of nightmares he would have expected, anyway. After all the horrific things he had seen, and sometimes done, it was never the obvious that came back to whisper in his ear as he slept. It was never past battles, or creatures looming at him from dark corners, or pain his body had felt at the hands or blades of others.

That night, he had dreamt of Irkngthand. It was the first dwarven ruin he had ever been in, and he had not been alone; but the entire time he had been trapped inside the ancient city he had not been able to shake the feeling of deep unease.

Brynjolf, Karliah and he had been chasing Mercer Frey, master of the Thieves Guild at the time. Mercer had welcomed their pursuit, welcomed them with open arms—he'd wanted them. He had allowed them to bring the hunt to him with the intent to kill all three of them.

Aldric squeezed his eyes shut. He could still see, in his mind's eye, the image that had been playing in his head just before he woke. Three candles, burned low, lined up on a fountain just inside the entrance to Irkngthand—the first of many of Mercer's taunting, beckoning calling cards.

Two days they had been stuck in or around the pumping station. Twigs had badly strained his weak ankle by saving Tinúviel, and had insisted that they allow him to heal naturally. Raj was the only one that was able to summon a spell strong enough, but Twigs would not allow the Khajiit to use magic on him.

That thought snapped Aldric out of his idle state. He looked back over the group rapidly. Twigs, Tinúviel, and Kaspar were missing.

His pulse began to rise, but then he saw the three pairs of boots that were neatly lined up beside their respective empty bedrolls. That was the signal that the owner was outside the pump house, bathing or otherwise tending to their needs.

Aldric kicked his own boots off and opened the doors, not bothering to be quiet. It was a miracle any of them had found sleep amidst the overbearing noise inside the station.

The rest of Kaspar's clothing was neatly folded up on the steps just outside, but there was no sign of Twigs or Tinúviel. Aldric shed his armor, dropping it in a heap next to Kaspar's. He took his first step into the water, grimacing a little at the chill.

Kaspar was nowhere to be found. There was no way he would have ventured further away from the pump house, naked and lacking a weapon, but the scout's natural curiosity was a force to be reckoned with.

He felt a slight ripple to his left, and turned to see a dark shape rising from the opaque depths to the surface. Kaspar popped up from the water, grinning. His long hair was unbound and plastered to his head, trailing in the water behind him.

Aldric splashed him right in the face—far less violently than he'd have liked—and took pleasure in the fact that his mouth was open. Undeterred, Kaspar spat the water back at Aldric, spraying him across his chest and neck.

He tensed to spring, and then remembered where they were. There were no nearby threats, save for the two frost trolls minding their own business far overhead, but the sounds of their play would echo throughout the cavern in unpredictable ways.

Aldric relaxed and lowered his arms, and Kaspar watched him, a hint of disappointment in his eyes. "Where were you?"

"Swimming," he replied.

"How did you know I was here?"

"I am a predator, Aldric." Kaspar began to drift backward, his hands gently propelling him. "As fierce underwater as I am on land."

He smirked. "Of course." Sinking further into the lagoon, he ducked and drew his head underneath to soak his hair. "Do you have soap?" he asked Kaspar.

In answer to that, the scout's hand rose out of the water clutching an uneven yellow block. Aldric stretched his arm out for it, and Kaspar tightened his hand around the soap, launching it straight at him. It sailed past his head and into the water.

Both men lunged for it. Soap was in tragically short quantity amongst the team, and what little they had was turning out to disappear at an alarming rate. Kaspar dove under, and Aldric almost immediately lost sight of him in the cloudy water.

He emerged a second or two later, holding the prized possession. Somewhat contritely, he paddled over to Aldric, proffering the soap. Aldric snatched it from him and backed away before Kaspar's playfulness could make another appearance.

Breaking off a small piece, he set the block next to their clothing on the ledge outside the station's doors. He rubbed it vigorously between his palms until it had mostly dissolved, and then he worked it into his hair.

Aldric watched Kaspar lazily glide back and forth as he scrubbed at his head. The scout's thick, dark golden locks hung easily past the middle of his back. "How in Oblivion do you manage to get all that hair of yours clean?"

Kaspar's hand cut through the water, and he watched the currents and eddies the movement formed. "Where do you think all the soap is going?"

As he cleaned himself, he contemplated the nightmare. Upon entering Raldbthar, he'd been amazed to note that when he woke from sleeping, the usual panic and anxiety he suffered through was not there. For the first time in years, his mornings were peaceful.

Then, the first time waking after entering Blackreach, it had started again. The second morning was worse than the first, culminating with what he'd just experienced. It troubled him, and he hated the lack of control he had over his own mind.

He splashed more water over his face and then glanced around. "Where are Tinúviel and Twigs? Are they doing the same thing?"

Kaspar's grin was suspiciously wide. "Not exactly."

"It unsettles me when you smile that way."

"Why, because I am a fierce water predator?"

"You come at me, and I'll grab you by all that hair and hold you under."

Hands protectively stroking his long locks, Kaspar moved to a safe distance. "You would not dare."

He chuckled. "You remind me of the way Carina is so fond of her curls."

Kaspar smiled. "Then she is a smart woman. How have the two of you fared lately?"

Aldric knew that Kaspar was not fond of Carina. He had been unfailingly polite to her in the past, as he was to everyone, but he hadn't taken to her. "Well. We're doing well. I gave her an Amulet of Mara before we departed for Eastmarch."

"I think you are mistaken as to how that custom works," Kaspar joked, but Aldric didn't miss the brief flicker of surprise in the scout's eyes.

"I can't wear it while we're here, so I thought I might as well leave it with her."

Kaspar glanced away, snatching at a thin piece of a floating plant in the water. "So… you are going to do it? Make her your wife?"

"We'll make the trip to Riften once we're finished here, yes."

"Hmm."

A short, awkward moment passed.

"You usually tell me what's on your mind," Aldric pointed out, when it became clear the scout would remain silent.

"I do," Kaspar replied readily.

"Then do it."

"No, I think I will keep my thoughts to myself this time."

Impatiently, Aldric rolled his eyes upward. "Why?" he pushed.

"Because being alive is something I take pleasure in."

"You have never once told me how you felt about…" Aldric gritted his teeth. "Her. About what happened."

"And there are reasons for that, Aldric." Kaspar's eyes were serious.

"I've come a long way," he insisted, irritated. "I can handle your opinions."

The scout shook his head, looking away. "You cannot even say her name."

"You pride yourself on being so honest." He could feel the situation sliding out of control, descending into something that felt unpleasant, but he couldn't stop himself. "I want you to tell me your thoughts about what happened, and what will happen with Carina and me."

"I have taken a mate of my own," Kaspar said suddenly, coming as close to snapping as Aldric had ever heard him. "I have felt the strength, the depth of the bond. What you have gone through, separated from her, frightens me. It is unimaginable. And yet, I cannot fathom how you would enter into something like marriage with a woman who is not your mate."

Taken aback, Aldric blinked at him. "How can you still side with her?"

"I do not favor her over you." Kaspar looked back at him calmly. "She saved my pack, Aldric. She saved my life, and many other lives, and she almost lost her own."

He could feel the familiar jumping of the muscle in his jaw. "And she walked out of my life."

"You should not give up on her," Kaspar said quietly.

"After six years? Why shouldn't I try to find happiness with Carina?" he demanded.

"Because she is not the one for you. She is not Rory."

Instead of exploding with the rage he felt building steadily inside of him, he stilled at the sound of her name. Breathing in and out methodically, he sank back into the water, all the fight leaving him.

"I apologize for forcing you into that," he said after some time had passed. "But I thank you for being honest."

Kaspar waved his hand. "It is over. We will forget about this." He looked to his side with a sudden smile. "I have something that may cheer you."

"What?"

In answer to that, he gestured for him to wait while he swam around the corner.

Aldric sat on the steps until he heard Kaspar's piercing whistle, and then he drifted through the water until he found the scout. Kaspar pointed across the lagoon to a small area near a waterfall.

Even at that distance, it was glaringly obvious what the two missing members of the team were doing. Twigs' pale nakedness shone like a beacon in the darkness, and it wasn't hard to imagine what an equally naked Tinúviel was doing, straddling him like that.

He let out a surprised laugh, watching with amusement as the couple jumped apart and began to scramble around for their clothing. Many times, after catching the elf bickering with him or harassing him, Aldric had suspected that she might've felt quite differently toward Twigs.

"Wait till I tell Brynjolf," he exulted. "He had gold riding on whether or not we'd find them kissing."

"That is not kissing."

Aldric splashed the scout again, and then turned to make for the entrance again. "I'm surprised you interrupted them."

"Twigs propositioned Aela in front of me. I have been waiting for my moment."

He scoffed. "I'm sure he had no idea that she's your mate."

"That makes no difference."

Aldric rolled his eyes.

Tinúviel made it to the pump house first. As he watched her, he noted with interest that it was indeed possible for someone to swim furiously. Wordlessly, she floundered up the steps and ripped open the doors, red eyes bright with murder.

Twigs was much slower as he paddled through the water. Aldric and Kaspar waited for him, openly grinning. The young man hesitated before climbing up the steps, undoubtedly sensing the mocking that was about to take place.

"Having fun?" Aldric began.

"Please don't," Twigs begged, sounding tired. "This is already bad enough. She's so angry."

"Women should not be angry during lovemaking," Kaspar advised teasingly. "You must be doing something wrong."

Aldric nodded in agreement. "Very wrong."

Twigs hung his head with a sigh.

"Did you try to put it in her navel?"

"Should we have a special talk with you, Twigs?"

"I believe he is in need of the talk, Aldric."

"Sit down, kid. We may be here for a long while. You see, women are so very different from your hand that—"

Kaspar lost it at that with a loud snort, bowing his head. As the scout's shoulders shook with his snickering, Aldric fought to keep his face straight, but once he felt the first twitch of his lips, he couldn't keep it together.

Both men abruptly stopped laughing as Twigs rose out of the water and began to walk up the steps into the station. He hadn't been able to find his breeches after all, and he made no attempt to cover himself as he passed them.

Kaspar turned to Aldric after the doors had closed behind Twigs. "Blessed by the Divines, that one is."

Aldric laughed again at the impressed look on Kaspar's face. "Who? Him, or Tinúviel?"


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **To **Detinc** and **xAustinKaibax**, yes, we're getting closer and closer to that with every chapter! **Brotherhood**, glad to have you back, and happy bday!

* * *

**Chapter 20**

The day after the incident in the lake, Aldric looked for Twigs. He was sitting on the floor next to Brynjolf and Lyssa while the thief showed them a few of his lock-picking tools.

All three of them looked up as he approached. As soon as Twigs saw that Raj was in tow, he began to awkwardly squirm to his feet, shaking his head.

"No," he snapped. "I told you I didn't want to be healed with magic."

Aldric ignored him. "Let me see your ankle."

Twigs raised his arms defensively as he drew nearer. "No!"

Lashing out with his leg, he swept Twigs' feet out from under him, and the other man landed heavily on his side. Before he could get up again, Aldric knelt and planted a knee on his chest. Raj twitched up his pant leg.

Twigs bucked and thrashed until he felt Aldric's hand near his injury. Examining Twigs' ankle closely, Aldric could see that it was still badly swollen. The bruising looked no better than it had the day before.

"I'm beginning to think you may have a small break in the bone."

Propping himself up on his elbows, Twigs glared at him. "I do not want Raj to heal me."

"_Ahziss koroh, ashlik_," Raj cut in from his perch at Twigs' feet. "I do not know. If the bone is broken…"

"Was anything salvageable from Patric's knapsack?" Brynjolf suggested.

Aldric didn't bother rummaging through the mage's pack again. "He had a tonic or two for himself, and three draughts to heal the rest of us."

Lyssa looked surprised. "So few?"

"Potions are expensive if you don't make them yourself, and it wouldn't have been a good idea for Patric to carry around a pack full of heavy glass bottles," he told her. "The healing was supposed to come from him. It's remarkable that he brought anything at all."

"Then give me one of the draughts," Twigs said.

Aldric gave him a hard look. "I'll repeat it again, in case you didn't hear me the first time: we have three of them. That means if you take one now, someone may die later because your ankle hurts. Let Raj try."

Twigs looked away. "No."

Raj and Aldric exchanged a look, and then the Khajiit's palm began to glow. He pressed it to Twigs' ankle, and before any of the bruising could even fade, he jerked his leg back and wrenched himself out from under Aldric.

Breathing heavily, he scrambled against the stone wall behind him. "I said no!" he repeated stubbornly.

Tinúviel's voice sounded softly behind them. "Twigs."

Aldric stood and grabbed Twigs by the collar, securing a fistful of the leather in his hand. Not waiting for him to get his footing, he hauled him up and began dragging him. Despite Twig's cursing and flailing, no one moved to intervene as he entered the station's lift that would take them back to the walkways above the lake.

Once the station lift had stopped, he strode down the path that took them deeper into Blackreach. Twigs' shuffled clumsily beside him, limping on his bad leg and forced to bend at the waist by Aldric's grip.

He stopped at a structure not far from the pump house. Just beyond the slim, raised bars of a gate was another lift. This one was darkened inside, powered down and waiting for activation. Aldric slammed his hand onto the button before him, and the bars shuddered before retracting.

He threw Twigs roughly onto the ground. "Do you know what this is?"

Face red with anger, Twigs struggled to right his jacket as he pulled himself upright. "It's a lift."

"It's the Great Lift that will take you back to Skyrim. I am very close to gathering the rest of the team and leaving."

"Why?" Twigs protested. "Because I have something against magic?"

"Because you're endangering everyone else!" Aldric snapped. "You told me to overlook your age, that you were a professional who had grown up in caves and tombs. And now we're fast running through food and supplies because you're being a child."

"I'm not—"

He took a step closer to him. "Tell me why we're here. Tell me what we're looking for."

Twigs tried to hold eye contact, but broke off after only a second. He flushed again. "I told you, just leave that to me."

"No." Aldric shook his head. "That no longer works. What is it?"

"It's something that was written to be very powerful, but strange."

"_What. Is. It?_"

"It's… ah, damn." Twigs spun around, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's there."

Aldric's gaze followed to where Twigs was pointing, further into the cavern. "What are you pointing at?"

"It's within the city," Twigs muttered.

In the center of Blackreach, the Dwemer had built a modestly sized settlement that resembled something of a fort. A sprawling square in the center was surrounded by several towering structures, including a much larger, intact pumping station and a vast network of catacombs.

He turned to face Twigs. "Do you know what that's called?"

"No."

"Not in any of your books?" he asked snidely.

"No."

"That's called the Silent City. Do you know why they call it that?"

"No, I don't know why they call it that." Still refusing to meet his eyes, Twigs stared at the ground instead, sounding defeated.

"I'll show you." Aldric turned and began to walk back to the station lift. "Come with me."

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Brynjolf murmured.

Aldric stood with the thief on the walkways near the lift. Behind him, Kaspar and Twigs were waiting. They had tightly bound Twigs' ankle with strips of linen, but he still stood with most of his weight on his left side.

"Yes," he answered.

"This is what we're here for, Aldric," Brynjolf reminded him. "Twigs is injured and unable to move quickly. With just the three of you out there…"

At the moment, he didn't care much whether or not Twigs would be able to outrun something trying to kill him. "We're not entering the city, we're scouting it. And I'd rather do that with just the three of us than the entire team. You'll be safe in the pump house."

Concern tightened Brynjolf's eyes just the smallest amount. "And if you don't return?"

"Take the Great Lift to the surface. Do not try to find us, Bryn," he warned.

The other man chuckled. "Right, because searching for your half-eaten corpse in this nightmare of a place would be my first idea."

Aldric slapped his upper arm before walking away. "Good man."

Kaspar stood patiently with his arms crossed, his hunting bow slung across his back. "We are ready?"

He nodded. "I want to take the path on the western side of the cavern, working our way north. It's higher ground, but the marked road will break off once it nears the city."

"I thought we were supposed to stay on the path," Twigs interjected.

Aldric glanced at him. "Shut up and stay quiet. If you spot something that either of us miss, let us know before acting."

Twigs gave him a sullen look in response.

Aldric set off down the walkway, passing the smoothly cranking gears of the Great Lift. Kaspar chose to stay at his side for the time being, holding his bow in his hand, and Twigs trailed along behind the two of them.

The worn yellow pavers below them led them north until they were blocked by a wide river. On their right, not far from where the water flowed thinly over the path at a shallow point, a massive waterfall marked the edge of the cliff.

"What now?" Twigs asked in a hushed voice. "We just cross the water, right?"

"I thought I told you to shut up."

Kaspar smiled a little as Twigs pulled away from Aldric's shoulder. "Knowing what is far from you is just as important as knowing what is close to you," the scout told him. Nodding, he gestured ahead of them across the river, to where a distant metallic figure could barely be seen through the gloom.

Twigs squinted. "A Centurion."

"It's still dormant, and it's going to stay that way," said Aldric. "Cutting through the river will put us at a crossroads right next to it."

Keeping to the path until it disappeared under the water, he turned to his left and climbed up onto the soft, rolling dirt of the bank. Directly ahead of them was another, smaller waterfall; the drop-off was a shade too close to where he intended to cross, but the giant rocks jutting from the surface of the river would provide enough protection from the current.

Without saying anything, Aldric gathered his strength and jumped. He landed heavily on the very tip of a rock barely breaking the surface, using his hands to steady himself. Two more rocks after that one, and he was standing on the other riverbank, his boots barely wet.

Kaspar secured his bow and leapt nimbly to the first rock, much more gracefully than Aldric had. He was on the other side of the river even faster, looking amused. They both turned to face Twigs.

With a very sour look on his face, Twigs didn't even bother trying to jump. He waded into the water, hopping until he reached the first rock. Grabbing it with both arms, he grunted as he fought against the current to get to the second one. Jaw tight and thoroughly soaked, he finally hauled himself up onto the soil next to the two of them.

Aldric allowed himself a smug little smile. "Ankle doing well?"

"It's fine," Twigs answered through clenched teeth.

"That's good, because we're in for a long walk." It was several miles at least until they reached the city. He could barely glimpse the faraway glow of the orange globe that hung above it.

They followed the river until they were well away from the Centurion, and then they crossed at the shallowest point they could find to get to the road again. Kaspar's bow was once again in his hand, his eyes never resting as he observed the cavern.

The path that the northwest road took them on was a pleasant one, for Blackreach. So many giant mushrooms grew along the trail, their natural light gentle and ethereal, that it was almost like walking through a small forest of them. He felt almost calm as they traveled through the plants.

Twigs ambled along behind him. Aldric could hear the unevenness of his steps and the way his breath came a little harder than normal as he struggled to compensate for his injured leg, but he was surprisingly quiet.

A soft yellow glow emerged through the murk not long after they'd left the Centurion behind. As they drew closer, Aldric recognized the tall, stately tower constructed close to the southwestern wall of the cavern.

He came to a stop. "That's the Tower of Mzark," he told Twigs.

Panting slightly, the younger man stared up at it. "It's huge. Can we give it a look?"

If it had been any other curiosity, Aldric would have refused. But the Tower of Mzark had been the entire reason for his first visit many years ago. Disregarding food, water, or rest, he had made his way through Blackreach until reaching the building in front of them. His memories of the sheer relief he'd felt upon making it were bittersweet.

Finally, he spoke, still looking at the structure. "We can." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Twigs' brows shoot up. "We need to keep it brief, though."

They left their road, taking the second one that led to the tower. Twigs' doubled his effort to walk, passing both Kaspar and Aldric in his excitement to reach the lift. He was halfway across the stone bridge when Kaspar suddenly froze.

He was about to ask what the problem was when he smelled it himself. A Falmer, crumpled and still, lay on the steps leading down from the bridge to the back of the tower.

Aldric approached it slowly, nudging it with his boot. Then he noticed the puncture wounds dotting its back. The creature had met its end at the hands of an archer, but the arrows were missing—and he couldn't recall when he had ever seen other Falmer bother to collect their arrows.

He turned to Kaspar. "I don't think we're alone in here."

"Look." The scout crept forward onto the bridge. "Blood."

The scent wasn't fresh, but it was unmistakable. Dark, irregular blotches of it splattered the stone. Twigs had breezed right past it without noticing. Aldric knelt and touched a finger to it, feeling that it was dry.

"Not Falmer," Kaspar said.

"No," he agreed. "Not Falmer."

Ahead of them, already standing in the lift, Twigs was frowning at them. "What's the matter?" he asked once they'd caught up to him.

Kaspar pointed to his feet. Not far from Twigs' boots were more droplets. "Someone was here. Recently."

"Were they coming from the tower or leaving it?" Twigs asked him.

Aldric looked down. "Ask the lever." Ruddy smears painted the metal grip of the lift's switch. A hand, coated in blood, had grabbed it. "We're leaving."

Twigs didn't follow him when he began to walk out. "Someone could be hurt up there."

"That's not my problem."

He made a sound of disbelief. "Look, I know you're fond of your cynicism, but…"

He looked over his shoulder. "The blood doesn't belong to a Falmer, or an animal. That means another person, maybe more than one, was here recently when they have no reason to be. You don't know who you'll find up there, but I assure you it won't be someone you want to deal with."

"And how do you know that?"

Aldric turned to face him. "Those that are stupid enough, or crazy enough, to ignore common sense and enter Blackreach anyway are not the kind of people that you would want to encounter."

"So which are we?" Twigs half-laughed. "Stupid, or crazy?"

"Both," he shot back. "More and more each day. Let's be on our way."

"Perhaps we should investigate," Kaspar suggested lightly. "I do not think more than one person passed through."

"And they're likely either dead inside, or they've moved on to the surface," Twigs chimed in.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he shut his eyes. He _did_ want to get another glimpse of the oculory.

* * *

The inside of the tower proved to be empty after all. The trail of blood led around the sunken stone room within before heading straight to the oculory, and neither Kaspar nor Aldric could smell decaying flesh from inside. It seemed the injured party had fled Blackreach.

He was unhappy with the rest of their findings, though. More than one person had been inside the tower. Years ago, a makeshift campsite had been there—long cold and abandoned—but a newer one had taken its place.

The small cookfire to the side still gave off the pungent odor of burned wood, and a few scraps of spoiled food rested inside the pot hung over the logs. The apple core Kaspar plucked out from it wasn't older than a few days, and the scent of stale urine drifted from a far corner he was staying away from.

Twigs stood in the doorway of the oculory, gawking at the monstrous piece of machinery in front of him. "What could this have been created for?"

Aldric knew exactly what it had been created for, but that was a story he fully intended to never tell Twigs. "No idea. Satisfied with your look around?"

"Can't we just—"

"You walk in there, and you won't want to come out for hours," Aldric predicted. "Let's go."

Reluctantly, Twigs turned around and set down the dwarven helmet he'd found on a shelf, grumbling. "Fine, fine. Walk away from what could easily be the most incredible piece of Dwemer technology in all of Tamriel…"

Kaspar piped up. "We do not understand what it does, so we should not touch it."

"That's a horrible attitude to have," Twigs remarked. "It's by taking things we don't understand and learning about them that we advance as a culture."

Unmoved by the earnest words, Kaspar slowly blinked and walked away from the oculory.

Aldric almost laughed. The scout's deep superstition was worse than that of most Nords; when they'd met, Kaspar was part of a secluded werewolf pack in the mountains of Winterhold, perfectly content to spend his days hunting animals, skinning them for pelts, and carving trinkets out of their bones. Technological advancement was not on the list of Kaspar's acceptable topics of conversation.

Not far away from the tower's bridge on their way out, Twigs stopped short when Aldric squatted on the ground near a cluster of brightly lit ferns and rocks. "Something wrong?"

Among the ferns was a lumpy black formation speckled with tiny, glowing blue spots. Digging his fingers into the segmented sac, it crackled as he began to break it open, pulling apart pieces to toss on the ground. Thick, clear liquid oozed out and began to roll over Aldric's wrist as he thrust his hand inside the pouch.

"You sick bastard!" Twigs whispered harshly, hovering close by in a way that suggested he might decide to force him to stop. "What are you doing?!"

The hand he withdrew held a fully-formed chaurus egg. It was surprisingly heavy and as big as a ripe apple, and at the perfect stage of development.

"Gorgeous," he murmured to himself.

Twigs scowled. "What did you _do_ that for?"

"If we were anywhere else but Blackreach, I'd take this and as many more as I could carry, because they're rare and very useful alchemical reagents," Aldric told him. "As it is, these eggs are almost ready to hatch, and they mark us as being inside of chaurus territory, which tends to be unexpectedly small. Keep your eyes open."

Twigs blanched. "Don't the Falmer pen them up?"

"Not here. They're allowed to roam wild, like cattle." With a last, wishful look at the egg, he dropped it and stood.

As they moved further down the road, they spotted no other egg sacs or adult chaurus. The city drew nearer, and Aldric was about to turn and talk to Twigs once more when something stopped him.

Booming footsteps sounded in the distance, and he cursed himself—the last time he'd been there, he'd marked the spot on his map as being home to a giant. He spun around, about to urge Twigs and Kaspar to go back the way they'd come, when the creature rounded a massive natural column of stone to face them.

Changing direction, he seized Twigs and shoved him toward the steep hill bordering the eastern side of the path. He and Kaspar followed, scrambling up using hands as well as feet as they tried to escape the giant's attention.

Once they'd reached level ground, he risked a glance behind him. The giant continued to walk along his road, a club the size of a tree sapling casually resting on his shoulder as he patrolled. Aldric sank onto the dirt, letting out a sigh.

Kaspar peered around him, eyes wide. "It did not see us?"

"No," he assured him, grinning. He was aware of the scout's healthy respect for the damage a giant could do.

Twigs sat on the ground next to him, clutching his ankle with a pained expression. "That hurt."

"The giant would have hurt you more," Kaspar pointed out.

Pulling himself to his feet with a grunt, Twigs stood and started to walk down the other side of the hill.

Aldric could see how hard his jaw was clenched. "Don't force it, or you'll—"

Twigs suddenly lost his footing, hitting the ground hard on his backside, and started to slide down the hill. He and Kaspar both lunged for him, unsuccessfully trying to grab him. Twigs rocketed down the slope to slam feet-first into a strange object in front of him with a soft _whump_.

The pod burst open, and a winged chaurus immediately took to the air, clicking aggressively. It lashed out with one of its forelegs, and Twigs threw himself away from it, barely avoiding the nasty stinger at the end.

Undeterred, the giant insect turned its focus to Kaspar. Its wings glittered and flashed as it struck at him. Too close for anything else, it dove forward and bit Kaspar, driving its needle-like mandibles deep into his forearm.

With a yell, the scout drove his dagger into the top of the chaurus' head. The creature shrieked but didn't let go. Twisting it viciously, Kaspar pulled his dagger out of it with a spray of greenish fluid and then stabbed it again.

The hunter released him, dropping to the dirt as it rushed him, but Aldric's greatsword speared it through the middle. It jerked and died around the blade, falling into two pieces as he yanked the weapon's tip out of the ground.

Kaspar collapsed next to it, cradling his left arm. "Gods above," he gritted out. "Why is it always this arm?"

The bite had already begun to swell, the skin around it reddening. "The poison is already working," Aldric said tersely.

"What does that mean?" Twigs asked, his voice small. "I've never seen a bite from a chaurus in person."

He pulled out a strip of leather from the pouch on his hip and started to twist it. "It means his body will shut down unless he gets an antidote." Tying the band in place just above the bite, he secured it with a knot.

"Can't we give him one of the draughts Patric had?"

Aldric stood, helping Kaspar to his feet. "That will only slow it down."

Looking ill, Twigs stared at him. "How long?"

"An hour." Then he considered the tourniquet, coupled with Kaspar's beast blood. "Maybe more."

Kaspar let out a shaky groan and flexed his hand. "It burns," he panted.

"I know," Aldric replied, trying to keep his anxiety out of his voice. "Try to keep your heartbeat steady."

"How can we help him?" Twigs broke in desperately.

"I don't know!" he snarled, whirling to face him. "I don't know how to help him!"

"Perhaps if I…" Kaspar muttered. Then his eyes flicked to Twigs.

Aldric instinctively knew what the scout was referring to. "No." He edged around Twigs, lowering his voice. "If you shift, the poison will spread faster. You might die in moments."

"Aldric, there has to be something we can do. We can take him back to the station, give him a draught, and then Raj can use his magic," Twigs suggested. "We can buy him more time."

He shook his head. "Kaspar won't make it to the station."

"There _has_ to be something!" Twigs stressed. "Somewhere…"

Aldric wracked his mind. _Think_, he commanded himself. Rapidly, he ran through every place he knew about in Blackreach. Random locations flashed to him. The mushroom farm, the Silent City, the Reeking Tower…

_The field lab._


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **Jiminy cricket, **JT**, you kind of blew me away. Thanks to **julie5** and **Scythe** as well, and to all the new followers, favoriters, and reviewers. And the lurkers. Love for you lurkers too.

If anyone is interested, I actually researched and wrote a little thing about how the full alchemy labs in Skyrim would work in real life. It can be found on my blog (the link is on my profile); search the tag 'alchemy' and it'll pop up.

* * *

**Chapter 21**

Aldric looked down at his feet where Kaspar was curled, shaking and breathing erratically. The scout had collapsed not long ago, the poison working its way through his body much more quickly than Aldric had anticipated.

The two of them waited on a small bluff overlooking a tiny pond, several miles from the giant's territory. They had left the road and crossed into what served as wilderness in Blackreach—with no road to guide them, Aldric had had to rely only on his own knowledge and sense of direction. No luminescent plants or crystals marked the land, and it had been truly dark for once.

Until now.

Chasing each other in circles around the pond were three ghostly beings. Pale, small, and round, the bluish-white of their glow pierced the blackness around him. They swept past his spot again and again, the long trails of their light soaring behind them with a sound like a torch being thrust into snow.

They were wisps, the guardians of the places a wispmother lived. One of the spirit women had decided to make her home in an otherwise unremarkable area directly opposite from a Falmer camp. Aldric had had two choices—fight through the camp, or try to sneak past the wisps. With Kaspar's state, it had not been a hard choice to make.

Twigs watched them from clear across the pond, having already made his way past the eerie little sentinels. Waiting until the wisps had swept across to the other side of the clearing, Aldric heaved Kaspar up and slung him over his shoulder.

Moving fast and low to the ground, he crossed the glade without taking his eyes off Twigs. Shadows flickered and shivered on the other man's face as the wisps danced around. Once Aldric had reached the other side, he turned to look behind him. The pond was still quiet.

"What now?" Twigs whispered.

Aldric continued forward, wanting to put as much distance between them and the wispmother as possible. "We're not far from the field lab. There may be more Falmer in the area. I want you to keep your bow out."

Climbing up through hilly, rocky terrain, they finally reached the end of the cavern. The northwestern wall of the cave looming at them through the darkness was something he could feel rather than see.

When they reached the wall, they turned to face northeast. Across the stream of a waterfall similar to the one Tinùviel had nearly fallen from, Aldric could see another road—and, not far beyond them, the lab.

Faint buzzing stopped his next steps, and he had to reach out and grab Twigs. Nearby, two winged chaurus were sleepily hovering over a few dark shapes, and he could smell the putrid flesh of more pods.

The two of them crept past very slowly and made it into the stream. Through the chill of the water, Kaspar's skin felt very hot, and he groaned when he felt it wash over him.

"Almost there," Aldric muttered. "Try to keep your eyes open."

The silence he got in response unnerved him.

* * *

Twigs pushed the door of the field lab closed, leaning on it. "Your leg," he said.

Ignoring him—and the Sphere's dart in his thigh—Aldric made for the corner. Kaspar was limp as he lowered the scout onto the stone bed, his eyes rolling rapidly under closed lids. "I need you to light the candles near the alchemy station."

The only light in the laboratory came from the dim reddish glow of a crimson nirnroot resting in a planter on the counter, and the globe of the enchanting table nearby. Many stubs of half-burned candles were scattered around the lab, cold and dark.

The one-room building was small, but large enough to accommodate the workstation to the right, and a small living area to the left. Set directly across from the doors, a modest hearth with dead logs and a moldering cooking pot greeted them.

Bones swept into a corner were all that was left of the intrepid Altmer alchemist that had once lived here. The field lab was a strange, memorable place. Aldric kept the elf's journal next to his own alchemy lab in Breezehome.

A moment or two passed before Twigs was able to strike a spark strong enough to catch the tinder waiting on the counter. When he'd lit the first candle, Aldric passed its flame to a lantern and handed it to the other man.

"What's this for?" Twigs asked.

"I'm going to look through what's here, and you need to fill this with water from the fall we passed." Aldric gave him his empty waterskin.

For once, he didn't argue.

He turned to the shelves next to the counter, rifling through the findings. After a few seconds, he let out a curse. It was the same as he remembered it; most of the reagents there were next to useless. Some of the plants crumbled and turned to dust when he touched them.

Twigs reappeared behind him, holding the waterskin. "What should I do with this?"

Aldric looked over his shoulder and pointed to the alchemy station. Used mostly for experimentation, it was a basic version, missing a proper condenser and still column. "Put it next to the alembic."

Twigs blinked at him.

"It's the vestibule on the left. The blue glass."

"How long will this take?" Twigs asked.

Aldric lit the heater beneath the alembic, watching the flames slowly take. "Not long."

Forced to change his mind about what he wanted, he turned and picked up a long strip of skeever hide that had been smoked until it was nearly leather. Then he snapped off a piece of a mudcrab's outer shell.

Watching Aldric arrange the substances inside the alembic before pouring the water over it all, Twigs poked at the mortar and pestle in front of him. "Aren't you supposed to use this?"

"No, not with this."

A sharp intake of breath behind them caught his attention, right before Twigs shouted, "Something's happening!"

Aldric turned to see Kaspar's arms and legs tensing, and his spine arched as he began to jerk and shudder. Grabbing the empty waterskin near him, he ran to the bed and worked it between Kaspar's teeth. "He's convulsing."

"Do you remember when I told you of the woman that died after reacting to the frostbite spider's bite?" Twigs' face was strained as he looked at him from across the bed. "This happened to her shortly before she died."

Holding Kaspar's head still, Aldric shook his head. "He's not going to die."

The bite on the scout's arm had developed a purplish-red color, the skin around it stretched and shiny. He loosened the leather band above the wound when he saw how much it had swelled.

Time seemed to pass much more slowly than normal as they sat with Kaspar.

"Something is dripping from that tube," Twigs said quietly. He moved to take Aldric's spot when he rose.

The little hollow carved into the station had begun to collect some liquid. Dipping his fingers in it, he put them into his mouth and then spat the potion back out. It wasn't quite right, but they had run out of time. Aldric uncorked a bottle on the counter, dumped out what was inside, and placed it under the long neck of the retort.

When enough had gathered, he returned to the bed. Gently removing the waterskin from Kaspar's mouth, he brushed hair from the scout's face and leaned over him with the glass container.

"He's still swallowing on his own," Twigs pointed out. "That's good, right?"

"Yes." Aldric wiped away the bit of potion that ran from the corner of Kaspar's mouth.

Coughing, Kaspar opened his eyes and looked up at him, grimacing.

He tried to muster a smile, but it felt like his face was misshapen. "It doesn't taste good, I know."

The scout's eyes fell shut again and he turned his head away, still breathing hard.

Twigs took the empty bottle from his hand. "How long does it take to work?"

"It's already working," Aldric told him. "What I mixed immediately stops the poison. If we gave him a very strong draught, or a healer like Patric was here, he would recover."

"Can't you make a draught?" Twigs frowned. "With the things that are here?"

"No." He untied the band of leather from around Kaspar's arm and let it drop. "Everything here is very old. Only some of the ingredients, like the hide and the shell, were resilient enough to stay potent."

Looking down at the scout, Twigs swallowed. "He's still going to die, then."

"If he were anyone else, yes, he would." Aldric stood and began to remove Kaspar's boots and trousers. "Too much time has passed since he was bitten."

"What do you mean, if he were anyone else? And why are you taking his clothes off?" Twigs rose from the bed slowly.

Rory had once almost lost a leg trying to save a woman from the Silver Hand, many years before they'd met. She'd told him that shifting to her wolf, coupled with her own natural healing ability, had saved her leg—that the magic that allowed them to shift was an ancient form of the same magic that healers used.

"_You've noticed how your skin tears and your bones break when you shift."_ He could hear her voice in his head. _"And yet, when you complete the change, you're unhurt."_

"Move away to the far side of the lab, Twigs," he said. "Stand still and do not make noise. He'll be confused and disoriented, but he will not hurt you."

Immediately, the scent of anxiety flooded the room. "What are you talking about?" Twigs demanded, his voice an octave higher. "What's going on?"

Aldric hovered over Kaspar, taking his face into his hands. "Kaspar. Wake up." He gently tapped the side of the scout's face a few times. "Wake up."

Kaspar opened his eyes, blinking hard at him. "Kyrr?" he mumbled blearily.

Twigs didn't miss that. "Who's Kyrr?"

Aldric ignored him. "Kaspar, it's time. Call your beast."

The scout didn't need to be told twice. He shut his eyes again, his brow furrowing. Right away, Aldric felt a shock of energy zing through the hand he had rested on Kaspar's face. It traveled through his fingers, into him, and his own wolf stirred.

Kaspar cried out, and Twigs had made it halfway to the bed when he let out a horrified gasp. The bones of Kaspar's face had begun to stretch and widen first, his jaw lengthening and his gums drawing back sharply. A tooth fell to the stone bed, followed by more.

Cracking sounds erupted from his chest as his ribs began to distort and bulge under his skin. Kaspar's hands clawed at his front when his flesh began to rip open, peeling apart in a long slash to reveal dark fur underneath. Both his lower legs snapped, one right after the other, and began to reform in their new shape.

Aldric had expected that Twigs might shout and yell, but he merely stuffed himself into the corner, as far away as he could get from the shifting werewolf. Holding his hands out reassuringly, he stood and put himself between Twigs and the bed. Grunts of pain and effort sounded behind him, soon deepening in pitch to low growls.

Kaspar dropped to the floor on all fours, coming around the front of Aldric unsteadily. He shook his head like he had water trapped in his ears, the thick ruff of fur around his neck swishing with the movement.

Even lowered to the ground, Kaspar's back rose nearly to his waist. "How do you feel?"

Bright yellow eyes rolled up to meet his. In answer, Kaspar drew the corner of his mouth back, giving him a distinct canine smile.

Twigs was peeping inarticulately from the corner like a giant, newly hatched chick. "It… he…"

Kaspar swung his head around to look at him, ears swiveling forward in interest. One massive, clawed hand moved on the ground in a step closer. Twigs visibly whitened. The scout's snout twitched as he drew a deep breath into his nose, scenting the air.

"He hasn't lost himself, Twigs." Aldric spoke low and softly. "The wolf is there, but so is Kaspar."

"He's a werewolf," Twigs croaked.

"Yes."

"He'll kill me." Kaspar approached him, sniffing his hand gently. "He wants to eat me."

Relief had flooded him so thoroughly that he felt almost drunk. He laughed out loud at Twigs. "No. But your fear smells good to him. And to me."

Huge, dark eyes flicked to his. "You. Are you one?"

"I have had lycanthropy for nearly ten years. Kaspar was born with it," Aldric explained. "You don't have anything to fear from us."

As if to confirm that, Kaspar turned back from Twigs and laid down on the floor, rolling to his side. Aldric could sense his exhaustion.

"Why did you tell him to…" Twigs swallowed, trying again. "To change?"

Aldric knelt on the floor next to Kaspar, and the scout allowed him to lift his long, heavily muscled arm. He pushed aside the coarse black fur, searching for signs of the bite. The skin on his arm was whole, untouched.

He looked up, unsure of what he should share. "Shifting can heal injuries. The bite is gone, and his body has repaired itself inside."

"Is Brynjolf a werewolf?" Twigs asked hesitantly.

Aldric fought a grin. Brynjolf was far too disciplined and orderly to ever be interested in the thought of giving himself over to an animalistic nature. "No."

Writhing, Kaspar began to return to his form as a man. When he'd finished, Aldric helped him up and back over to the bed, handing him his trousers. The scout had barely pulled them on before he laid back and rolled over onto his stomach on the stone.

Kaspar let out a snore almost right away. He was the only person Aldric had ever met that had such an impressive command over sleep. He could do it anywhere, at any time. Once he closed his eyes—sitting, leaning, slumping, in the cold, in the heat, with people yelling in the same room—it was over.

"Make yourself comfortable," he told Twigs. "We'll be here for a while longer."

* * *

Hours later, Aldric felt himself growing tired as well. They had placed a torch in a sconce by the bed, and another near the hearth next to him, and the warm glow of the flames made the field lab seem almost cozy.

Twigs was perched on the counter next to the enchanting table, resting against the wall with his legs folded in front of him. He'd been silent after Kaspar had fallen asleep, watching without commentary as Aldric tended to the small wound in his thigh and bottled more of the potion he'd made.

He spoke up then, voice quiet. "What do you think about the Tower of Mzark?"

Aldric knew he was referring to the injured person, or people, that had moved through. "I'm more interested in what _you_ think of it."

Twigs shrugged. "Another person foolhardy enough to enter Blackreach."

"People," he corrected.

"There could have been only one person there."

"The trail of blood went nowhere near the dead Falmer," Aldric pointed out patiently. "Another person, an archer, killed it and took their arrows back."

He blinked. "So?"

"Think, Twigs. Use your head."

Twigs shrugged, confused. "What are you thinking, then?"

Aldric shifted his weight in the chair he sat in. "I don't believe in coincidences. Why would more people be inside Blackreach at exactly the same time as our team?"

Twigs straightened up, looking scandalized. "Augustus would _not_—" he started, clearly winding himself up for a huffy rebuttal.

_A name._ "Wouldn't he?" Aldric interrupted. "Rich men don't get that way by being unable to calculate the odds. Two teams means he's twice as likely to get what he wants."

"Not Sergius," Twigs shook his head, looking fierce. "Not him. Not without telling me."

"And the note Sergius had sent to my home?"

"He's greedy. He would've heard from others in our business, heard about the gold."

Aldric could see that his words were starting to get through. "How badly does this Augustus want this?"

Twigs didn't answer.

"Badly enough to spend hundreds of thousands of septims on us. So it's not wealth he wants." He nodded to the journal tucked in the other man's waistband. "I see you writing in that book every spare moment. What are you putting in there?"

"Everything," Twigs shot back.

"Then write this: gold isn't enough, in the end. Men like him will always want power. They lust after it like they do women. It talks to them."

Twigs scoffed. "What do you know about wanting power?"

Aldric stared at him and opened his mouth to reply to that, but Kaspar rolled over on the bed, sighing. Both men stopped, looking over at him.

"Is he ever going to wake up?" Twigs snapped. "How can he sleep that deeply on a bed made out of stone?"

Aldric considered the scout. "Might have to dump some water on him. Kick him in the ass."

Abruptly, Twigs' irritated expression dissolved with a chuckle, and Aldric smiled with him. They fell silent for a long time, and he had almost dozed off for the second time when Twigs cleared his throat.

"You said you've been a werewolf for ten years."

"Just about," Aldric agreed tiredly.

"Can I ask how it happened?" His tone was tentative, as if he were asking about a missing limb.

"I was not attacked, if that's what you're wondering," Aldric told him. "I chose it."

"You…" Twigs' brows knit together. "Why would you choose to be a—a—"

_Monster._

Aldric wouldn't have told him about the Circle even if he could have. Twigs was too young and too naïve to have grown past seeing things in black and white; his attitude toward magic was evidence of that. "Because it made me stronger," he finally answered. "It sharpened my senses. It made me a better fighter."

"Will you be this way forever?"

Aldric thought back on the night in the plains of Whiterun, when the wild wolves had raised their call; he thought of being only a man once more, of killing the beast that was always quietly there.

He thought of how he might be able to break the bond with Rory, wherever she was.

"Yes," he said simply. "I will be this way forever."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N**: Little shorty for today, then on Monday I'll be back with another chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 22**

Whiterun was small, compared to a sprawling place like Solitude, but that didn't make life in the city much quieter. Being located in the center of the country meant that the Bannered Mare was often packed full of travelers and merchants wanting to get their fill of ale and hearty stews before moving on.

Living in High Rock had been so unbearably dull. Carina had wanted nothing more than to come to Skyrim. Dragons and war didn't scare her, and Nord culture thrilled her. What could be more exciting than strapping warriors filling their days with fighting and killing, and their nights with mead and coupling like sabercats?

Lots of things, as it turned out. The Mare had given her only fighting and mead, until she'd met Aldric. He didn't exactly introduce her to killing, but he did that himself, and that was just as good.

Saadia swept into the back room, putting her serving tray on the table across from the cooking spit with a clatter. Carina looked up from the crate of apples she was unpacking, eyeing the frustrated woman. "Something the matter?"

"No." Saadia rested her hand on her lower back. "Just tired, like usual."

"It's busy tonight."

"It's busy _every_ night."

Carina shrugged, standing up from the empty crate. "Lots of business means lots of gold."

"And lots of pinches for my ass," Saadia observed. "Speaking of that, haven't you had enough of that amulet yet?"

The Amulet of Mara hadn't left her neck once for the last week, since Aldric had put it on for her. She touched it, as she often did, and smiled. "I love wearing it."

The other woman gave her a look. "You know that Mikael thinks that's for him."

Carina rolled her eyes. "He can think it all he wants, he's not my husband-to-be."

"And where is your husband-to-be?" Saadia teased.

All the other girls had laughed at her when she told them Aldric had departed for Blackreach, which hadn't ceased to annoy her yet. The only person that had believed her was Hulda, and she was almost as bad—only she replaced disbelief with concern.

"He'll be back soon, and then we'll be off to Riften, and I'll be a married woman," Carina sniffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Saadia smiled. "You won't leave me by myself in this dreadful place, will you?"

"Not until I grow fat with child, which will be very soon."

"Don't look so excited, it's not as enjoyable as you'd think." Saadia picked up her tray and began to walk out of the room. "Oh, by the way, there's a courier looking for you at the bar."

"Why didn't you say so?!" Carina demanded, kicking the crate out of the way as she ran past Saadia. "That could be from Aldric!"

There was only one man sitting at the bar, talking to Hulda while he sipped a bottle of mead, and Carina's eyes zeroed in on the folded parchment tucked into his belt at the small of his back.

She resisted the urge to pluck it out and open it right away. "Hello," she greeted him courteously. "You have mail for me?"

The courier's eyes wandered over her, and he stood. "You live in the house by the smith?"

"Yes." She waved her hand impatiently. "Breezehome. It was addressed to me?"

The man pulled the letter out, holding it with an uncertain look on his face. "It was addressed to the owner of the house, but I've been told he won't return for some time."

"We're to be married soon, I can take it." Carina held her hand out expectantly.

For a brief moment, she thought the courier might argue with her, but his eyes dropped to the Amulet of Mara. Taking the letter, she walked into the back room once more and sat down at the table in the corner.

Aldric's mail was a source of great intrigue to her. Once a month, he shut himself inside the small bedroom across from theirs with a great pile of it. Not once had she ever been allowed to read any of it, and sometimes he burned things.

What made this letter special was the fact that the courier had been directed to Breezehome. Very few things were ever delivered directly to the home; usually all of his correspondence was sent to Dragonsreach and held by the steward.

Carina flipped the thin piece of parchment over. The wax was a plain gray color and bore no insignia. Cracking the seal open, she noticed immediately that it was dated only three days ago.

* * *

_Aldric, _

_Rory left. I don't know where she was going, but she told me it might be dangerous and that if she didn't come back in exactly two weeks, I was supposed to head for Snowpoint. _

_Two weeks came and went, and she's not back yet. I don't want to go to Snowpoint. I'm afraid they won't let me live there, and I don't want to live there anyway. I want to go to Whiterun._

_She would be so mad if she knew I was writing to you. I hope you're not mad, too. I don't know what else to do. I'm going to wait for another week or so in case she comes back late, and then I'm going to leave. _

_Please please don't be mad at me._

_Lilly_

* * *

Carina's hands shook with rage. Somehow, she knew that 'Rory' was the woman from Aldric's past. Lilly's handwriting was too childish to be that of an adult. Which brought to mind another ugly thought; why did a child living with that bitch want to come and live with Aldric?

Did he have a daughter?

She stood up so abruptly that the chair behind her toppled over and hit the floor. Marching straight out to the bar, she jerked the courier around by his shoulder. "This letter's city isn't marked," she snapped.

He pulled away from her, looking surprised. "I know. The girl that gave this to me paid extra to leave that off, and to take a carriage straight to Whiterun."

Carina frowned. "It's very important that I know where this came from."

"Sorry." The courier shrugged.

"Please." She gritted her teeth. "I'm begging you."

"Look, I really can't tell you. It's part of the oath we take," he explained.

Once upon a time, Carina might've opened her blouse to get it out of him, but those days were behind her. Now, she had two options: plying him with the expensive whiskey Hulda kept locked in a chest upstairs, or stabbing him in the eye with the fork she was staring at.

She turned around and went for the stairs. One way or another, she was getting that city out of him.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Aldric crouched on the balls of his feet on the stone platform high above the water, not far from the lift to the pump house. Motionless, he monitored the cavern around him, looking for any sign of movement.

The rest of the team was inside the pump's building, on his orders to remain within until he came back. For the rest of the night, he intended to stay on watch in the area, alone.

Something was wrong.

Things had begun to rapidly disintegrate for him. Aldric had never thought he could possibly feel any more terrible than he already did, but he'd been wrong. Every single day he woke inside Blackreach felt like the day he would finally lose his mind.

It was as if the attacks he experienced in the morning never left him. The anxiety, the rage, the panic—it failed to dissipate once he woke. His mind was a cacophony of silent voices screaming at him to do dozens of things simultaneously.

First Brynjolf noticed, and then Kaspar. He was barely able to shake them off. The last thing he wanted was for Twigs to notice—the boy was insufferable with his questions and stubbornness. Every single ounce of determination and willpower he had inside of him went to making it appear as if nothing was wrong.

Everyone else was growing restless. Twigs had finally allowed Raj to heal him, and now that his leg was strong again, nothing held them back from finishing their mission. His instinct to venture further into Blackreach was so powerful that it frightened him—it was like he was being called, pulled, deeper into the cavern.

Now, perched outside of the pumping station, it was all he could do to remain still as another wave of… whatever it was descended on him.

A cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he fought for balance. Aldric squeezed his eyes shut, praying for help to anything or anyone that was listening. His breath came in pants through his clenched teeth, and his muscles tensed painfully, but he would not allow himself to move.

In response to that, his beast roiled inside of him. Tonight, instead of the quiet kinship he had become used to sharing with his wolf, the animal fought him. To his shock, Aldric suddenly felt a familiar warning—for the first time since the early days of becoming a werewolf, he began to fear he was going to lose control and shift against his will.

He bunched his fists. "No."

He opened his eyes, and his pulse quickened when he saw the way his vision was beginning to split, as if he were seeing with two different sets of eyes. Aldric's mouth fell open as he tried to take a breath to steady himself, and a low growl trickled from his throat.

"_No_," he snarled again. He moved forward so that he was kneeling on the platform, his hands pressed against the cold rock. In his mind's eye, he could see his wolf, lips curled to bare sharp, white teeth.

Aldric struck the stone pathway violently with his fist. The second the skin over his knuckles split, a flash of pain swept through him and pushed everything back. For a moment, his beast faded and his instincts calmed.

Shakily, he turned to find the pack he'd brought with him. It rested on the pathway behind him, and he ripped it open to find what he was looking for. Twice he nearly dropped it before freeing it from its packaging.

The first wave of alcohol scorched down his throat like amber fire. Aldric pulled the bottle of brandy away from his mouth with a grimace. The only thing that had ever helped him cope in any way was drinking—and now it was either that, or leaving the team behind to make for the surface.

Ignoring the fine tremor in his arm, he raised the bottle for another swig.

* * *

There was no way to tell how much time had passed when he found himself standing on the edge of yet another platform. Aldric blinked hard, looking down at the water hundreds of feet below him, and then to either side of him. Had he fallen asleep?

Swaying slightly, he took a few steps back. He had no idea why he'd gotten so close to the edge, or how he had gotten there. Clumsily, he ran a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes.

To say he was drunk was an understatement. Delvin would have put it as being, "well and truly pissed." The half-empty bottle of aged Cyrodiilic spirits had been lost somewhere along the way, and in a brief moment of clarity Aldric realized that was for the best.

It had worked, though. His wolf was nowhere near the surface of conscious thought, and the chaos in his mind had faded to a muted riot that was easily overlooked.

He staggered back the way he must have come, his hand trailing along the smooth side of the Great Lift. After a moment or two of what felt like walking with feet that had been switched while he'd blacked out, his lower legs suddenly became cold.

Aldric paused and looked down._ Water._ Dimly, he registered that he'd stumbled into a shallow river, the same one he, Twigs, and Kaspar had avoided crossing. His pant legs below the knee were submerged in the current.

"Well, look at that." With one hand, he prodded his slightly numb lips and heavy tongue while undoing his pants with the other.

He sighed as he began to relieve himself. It was nice, he reflected, going in a stream. No need to worry about aiming at all. He struggled for a bit to put himself right again, and then squinted ahead of him.

Something was nagging at the back of his mind. The water surged around his legs as he stood and stared. What was wrong?

Then he spotted it. Across the little river, there was an unmoving figure on the ground. It rested on a small sitting area protruding slightly from the bank, two abandoned stone chairs looking out over the water.

Aldric waded into the stream, and stumbled once he was chest-deep. The current was stronger than he thought it would have been. He nearly lost his balance, but managed to stay upright.

His head was swimming worse than he was. He made it to the body and knelt to examine it, vision spinning. It was a Falmer. Its limbs were still loose, not yet having tightened in death.

Aldric looked it over, wanting to know how it had died. Then he spotted the arrow between its shoulder blades, right in his face. How long had that been there?

_Just like the one by the Tower of Mzark._ With a grunt, he yanked it free of the creature and held it up close to his eyes. He clutched the shaft tightly as he stared at it. Ebony. It was an ebony arrow.

A frown creased his brows. That wasn't right, was it? No one on the team carried those. Lyssa preferred Elven arrows, and Kaspar and Twigs both used plain steel.

Absently, his fingers stroked the stiff feathers of the fletching as he tried to force his brain to work. Ebony arrows were expensive and hard to find, and they were rare to come across in Skyrim. Aldric huffed a frustrated sigh as he thought; there was something about it, right on the edge of his mind…

His scalp prickled, and he dropped the arrow. For some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. The sensation practically burned him with how strong it was. Even his wolf stirred, roused by the same feeling.

"Gods, I am drunk," he muttered aloud. As soon as he'd said that, his stomach gave a queasy rumble.

Aldric frowned again as he felt what seemed like a vibration in the ground. He looked down, seeing only the dead Falmer at his feet. Then it happened again, stronger this time. The ground gave a firm bounce underneath him, testing his already shaky balance.

He turned around just in time to see a Centurion, arm raised high above him, before it slammed into him.

The hammer caught him full in the chest. He sailed through the air and landed heavily in the water. When his head broke the surface, he struggled horribly for a few seconds to draw breath; it felt like the hammer had caved in his sternum and all of his ribs.

The automaton relentlessly pursued him. His feet scrabbled against the stones in the stream, trying to swim backward, but the current shoved him toward the Centurion. Aldric heard the telltale click just before it released a torrent of steam at him.

Water splashing, he heaved himself upward onto the bank before the superheated air could catch him. Undeterred, the Centurion swiveled to face him. Aldric made it to his feet, stumbling around the side of it as his hands groped for his greatsword.

They met with emptiness. The weapon had been lost; when, he could not say. It could have been lying at the bottom of the river, or it could have been separated from him any time after he'd uncorked the brandy.

As he stared up at the Centurion, Aldric regretted every drop of alcohol he'd ever drank in his life. The automaton split into first two, and then three swirling images as he watched it.

_Shout_, a voice commanded him.

Aldric opened his mouth too late. The Centurion's hammer struck him again, knocking him into the river like he was a child's toy. This time, Aldric knew the second he hit the water that something had been broken.

For a few seconds, he let the current have him, carrying him downstream away from the automaton. He watched the Centurion pace ineffectually as it tracked him, and he almost grinned.

Then he felt the power of the current. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the massive swell of water, felt the spray, heard the roar—and for the second time in moments, he was too late. Blood draining from his face, he rolled onto his stomach and tried to swim against it. He strained to reach the rocks not far from him as the river shoved at him.

Aldric was still fighting as he plummeted over the edge of the waterfall. His yell was lost to the deafening pounding of the river as he went. For a long, terrifying moment, he felt his body in freefall as he dropped.

He plunged into the water below with a mighty splash. Almost as soon as he went under, his head struck a rock stuck in the hard-packed mud. Disoriented, he tried to make for the surface, but it was impossible to tell which direction it was in.

Mouth gasping for air, he sucked in a lungful of water. He convulsed, his body fighting it, and more went down his throat. Distantly, he felt his shoulder hit something hard as the current carried him further from the falls.

He felt cool air on his face, and began to hack and splutter as he choked up the water that had gone down. His chest ached and his side burned where bones had snapped. White fuzz filled his brain as he fought to stay awake, and his face dipped under again as his body weakened.

Seconds before he lost consciousness, Aldric felt strong hands begin to pull him from the water.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:** Thank you to all the guest reviewers that I cannot reply to, you butts!

So, I was looking over my notes, and Chapter 28 (but potentially 30) should end Part 1 of this story. We're getting very close!

* * *

**Chapter 24**

Aldric opened his eyes, and two things happened at once.

His chest tightened with a cough the second he took in a breath, and his side screamed in protest. He flinched, his hand unconsciously coming to cradle his ribs, and then vomit surged up his throat.

Rolling over to his uninjured side, he scrambled to the edge of the surface he was lying on and emptied his stomach onto the floor. The reek of alcohol stung his eyes, and he choked, fighting the waves of agony that ripped through him as his middle seized.

Gasping, Aldric pushed away and landed on his back again. Sweat covered his body as he panted for air. The pain in his side was dim compared to the new pain he felt in his chest. It felt like both of his lungs and his throat had been ground up in an alchemist's mortar and pestle, and then lit on fire.

Still fighting to keep his breathing shallow, he lifted his head as high as he could to look around him. He was resting on a stone bed, and moth-eaten, rotting blankets were crumpled around his feet. He was stripped to the skin, and his leathers were nowhere in sight.

Aldric dropped his head back to the cold rock underneath him. It felt like pure bliss as it pressed against his hot skin. He strained his mind to remember how he'd gotten into the building.

Very few times had he gotten drunk enough to black out the memory of the previous night, but he usually had other witnesses to help him piece together the events he'd missed. He gritted his teeth in frustration as he wracked his thoughts.

Pressing the heels of his hand to his eyes, he groaned as he tried to wade through the murky memories just out of his reach. Suddenly, he recalled the corpse of the Falmer he'd come across, and the arrow that had ended its life.

_The arrow. _

Aldric thought slowly, turning it over in his mind carefully. Something about it had frozen him, sent his heart thudding hard in his chest. It felt like every other part of his mind ground to a halt as he thought.

He remembered falling from the top of the river, dropping to the lake hundreds of feet below him. He remembered hitting his head, nearly drowning, but not why he'd been in the river in the first place.

He remembered his wolf fighting—_battling_—him for control. Aldric had never experienced anything like it while still in his form as a man, instincts pushing and pulling toward something unknown, as if his wolf knew something he did not.

He remembered the feeling of being intensely watched as he stumbled around Blackreach. And, against all odds, he remembered hands pulling him out of the water just before everything went black.

_The ebony arrow. _

Just then, he heard quiet footsteps echoing from somewhere deeper in the small building. He strained to sit up, and a shriek of agony from the bones and muscles on his right side halted him.

Her name was on the tip of his tongue as he fought to get off the stone bed. Aldric's heart pounded in his chest, every quick breath pushing against his wounded ribs. She was here. She had found him.

The figure at the end of the hallway drew closer. Aldric's vision flickered as he fought to stand, clawing and pulling at the smooth rock walls near the bed. At a distance, he could see long dark hair spilling down compact shoulders and an angular face.

"Aldric?"

He froze, staring at the figure.

"How do you feel?"

He sank down onto the bed, looking up as the figure drew nearer. His body felt so weak.

Once again, the man's voice sounded. "Aldric?" he repeated.

Aldric swallowed past the rage and frustration that threatened to claw free of his chest at that moment. _So stupid_, he screamed silently at himself. The odds of Rory being in Blackreach, right here, right now, were so minimal that he wouldn't have bet even a septim on the odds.

"Guildmaster?"

He looked up, flinching as the man reached a hand out to his shoulder. "Who are you?" The man pushed his hood back, and Aldric squinted at his face. "Yousef? How are you…"

"In Blackreach?" Yousef finished for him, giving him a gloomy smile. "I almost don't even want to tell you the tale."

Yousef was a relatively new thief, recruited by Brynjolf a couple of years back. He'd come to Skyrim from Hammerfell, where he'd lived all his life with his father and mother, who were native to the coasts of the desert province. Quickly proving his value, he'd risen through the ranks fast enough for Brynjolf to introduce the two of them.

Aldric drew back, looking the man up and down. In his blind eagerness to see Rory, he had completely ignored the fact that his savior was dressed head to toe in the armor each thief belonging to the Guild wore.

The russet leather looked the worse for wear, however. Long tears marred each of the thief's legs, and one of his sleeves was slit up the forearm to flap open, exposing the bare skin beneath.

Then he turned his attention to the man's face. Aldric had not spent much time around him, but he knew enough to remember that Yousef put a great deal of value on personal appearance. He'd never seen him with so much as an eyelash out of order.

Now, the difference was jolting. Yousef's long, glossy dark hair now hung limp and dull against his shoulders. His skin, usually tanned golden-brown, seemed ashen and sickly, stretched tight over his cheekbones that were alarming with their prominence. Dark stubble coated his normally clean-shaven jaw.

"You look like skeever dung," Aldric said bluntly.

Yousef narrowed his eyes, but a slight smile quirked his mouth. "You don't look very appealing, either."

"I fell off a waterfall after drinking myself into Oblivion, apparently."

"That explains the smell, anyway," Yousef sniffed, his eyes drifting over to the puddle of vomit near the bed. "And a few other things. Why would you get that drunk inside Blackreach, of all places?"

Aldric pushed to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall. Teeth gritted in pain, he stretched a hand out to Yousef. "First, give me my armor."

The other man turned and walked away from the bed, disappearing for a brief moment. When he returned, he held Aldric's leathers, neatly folded in his arms. "I believe the water has damaged it."

Aldric took his trousers first. After he'd put his breeches on, he shook out the pants and started to climb into them. Yousef wasn't wrong; the leather was stiff and had a slight odor to it.

"How did I get here?" he asked the thief.

Yousef almost looked ashamed. "I've been lost in this gods-forsaken place for… days, I believe. I thought I would surely die. Eventually, I found this place. I was outside collecting more water, and I saw you."

Aldric watched him as he started to yank his boots on. "When did you see me? What was I doing?"

"You were on the stone walkway. I watched you for an hour, perhaps two, and you stayed in the same place."

The inside of his boots were disgusting. He could feel water squelching around his toes as he flexed his feet. As he fastened the buckles, he thought hard about what Yousef had said, recalling the feeling of being watched.

Yousef mistook his silence for disapproval. "You must understand, I would have come to you sooner, but at that distance I had no idea…"

He shook his head. "That doesn't matter. What happened after that?"

The other man shrugged. "You stood, and I thought I saw the Blackguard armor. I followed the road from this building to the river—it was my intent to cross it, and I… I am embarrassed to say, but I believe I was the one that woke the Centurion nearby. I did not see it."

Aldric's head snapped up. "You woke a _Centurion?_ What happened to it?"

Suddenly, Yousef's face went blank, and his eyes filled with apprehension. "You do not remember?" he asked carefully.

"Did I put it down?"

"Ah…" Yousef rubbed the back of his head. "Apologies, but it put _you_ down. It struck you twice, and the second time, you fell into the river. The current must have caught you. Once I saw that you were going to go over the falls, I rushed to the lake. You passed out before I dragged you out, but you did choke up a great deal of water. I helped you the best I could, and then I took you here."

'_Here_' must have been the small abandoned building that was across the network of bridges near Raldbthar, and down the road from the Centurion's station. His ribs gave a pang, and he found himself grateful that he couldn't remember battling the automaton.

"What happened to the Centurion?"

"I have no idea," Yousef answered honestly. "It did not spot me, and last I saw, it was still stomping around the area it watches."

"If they're not taken out, they return to their post and go dormant again," Aldric told him. "How long ago was this?"

Apologetically, the other man spread his hands. "I have no way to tell time, but I would guess it was perhaps six hours ago."

"Then that brings us to the next question I have for you. What, exactly, are you doing in Blackreach, Yousef?"

"Oh." At the sudden nervous change in Yousef's tone, he looked up. "Ah… well, I would first like to say that I have never made a more foolish decision in my life."

He was starting to feel the same way. "Out with it."

The thief took a deep breath, and then clenched his jaw. "We all heard what the boy had to say about his expedition. Twenty-five thousand septims to accompany him to Blackreach. It was all we could talk about for days."

Aldric blinked at him. "You're talking about Twigs?"

Yousef nodded. "He visited the Flagon and spoke to Delvin and Vex. Brynjolf met with him, but he turned him away shortly after. Bryn gathered the rest of us and told us that we were to forget about that, no exceptions. And…" He trailed off.

"And?" Aldric prompted.

"I talked to Maul," the man said simply. "He told me that the boy was no longer taking anyone from the Guild, but that there was another man in Solitude that was leaving very soon for Blackreach, sooner than the boy. I left that night and traveled to Haafingar."

"And you met with an Imperial named Sergius."

Yousef's eyes widened. "You know."

"That man sent thugs to my home not an hour after Twigs arrived in Whiterun." Aldric stared at him. "But before that, Twigs stopped over in Windhelm. That means you made it to Solitude well before he showed up on my doorstep, Yousef."

The man wouldn't meet his eyes. "Sergius wanted to know how I'd known to find him. He'd finished filling out his team and had been planning to leave with who he had. He told me that if I gave him a bit of information, he'd hire me."

"You told him that I was working with Twigs," Aldric said.

Yousef looked away. "I didn't know what he was like at the time, Guildmaster. He seemed friendly enough, only wanting to know about his competition. I felt that was reasonable. The man that hired him hadn't told him that there would be another team."

"No, he didn't," he replied. "Twigs had no idea Sergius had been hired, either."

Yousef was quiet.

Aldric changed the subject. "What did Brynjolf say would happen if anyone tried to leave with Twigs?"

"He said that if any of us went behind his back, we'd… we would be banned from the Guild."

He stood and looked Yousef in the eye. "Then I hope you have skills other than stealing."

For a second, Aldric thought the thief would protest. His mouth dropped open and shock flashed through his dark eyes. But all that came out of his mouth was, "I suppose I deserve that."

Aldric didn't miss the mopey tone of his voice. "Brynjolf acts as my proxy in my stead."

"Yes."

"He gave you a direct order, and you disobeyed it."

"Yes."

"And you gave information that led to an attack at my home."

Yousef paused for a moment, staring at his boots. "Yes."

"And you also saved my life."

Yousef looked up, watching him with a cautiously neutral face.

Aldric was barely able to stifle a shout as he slowly pulled his cuirass on. Moving his right arm, the one on the side where he had surely cracked a rib or two, was almost unbearable. His fingers trembled as he plucked at the buckles at his waist.

When he was done, he looked up. "I'm not one to ignore my debts, not anymore. You did something for me, so now I will do something for you. I'm going to take you to the nearest lift, and you're going back to the surface."

Yousef's dark brows drew together the smallest amount.

"Don't tell me you're going to argue with that," Aldric warned him. "I'm not sure how you've managed to keep from being killed. It's a miracle you're alive."

"I agree with you there." Yousef huffed a dry, humorless chuckle.

"Then it's time to stop pushing your luck. You've obviously been wandering Blackreach for days without food or—"

"I do have _some_ food," the thief broke in. He pulled something from the satchel on his hip, holding his hand out to Aldric. "I know it's not much, but…"

He leaned forward. Yousef was holding a conical mushroom cap, and the flesh of the fungi had a strange, nearly translucent quality to it. He had never seen it before. "Where did you find that?"

Yousef dug his fingers into the cap, ripping it apart. "They grow everywhere inside this place. The smaller ones, that is. They usually grow near the impossibly tall ones."

Aldric watched him put a piece of it into his mouth and chew. "Do they glow?"

The other man nodded. "Blue, usually." Then he grimaced. "The taste isn't bad, but Ruptga's balls do they make me drool."

Aldric slapped the mushroom out of Yousef's hand. It fell to the floor where it rolled to a stop near his feet, and he kicked it into the shadows beyond Yousef.

The other man stared at him, still chewing. "What was that for?"

Roughly grabbing his chin, Aldric looked into his eyes. "Has your vision been blurred at all? Head hurt?"

Yousef pulled away, rubbing his face. "Blackreach has been harder on my eyes than I expected. Sometimes I think the dark is playing tri—"

"It's not the dark, it's the mushrooms!" he snapped. "Do you know nothing, Yousef? Many mushrooms that grow in Skyrim are poisonous. Actually, nearly all of them are."

Yousef paled. "I didn't…"

"Do you know anything about the Snow Elves, Yousef? Or the Falmer?"

Eyes wide, he shook his head. "Are you trying to tell me this is the same mushroom that made them lose their sight?"

"I cultivate plants for use as alchemical reagents, and I have never seen this species before," Aldric told him. "It seems likely."

Yousef leaned over and began hawking and spitting on the stone floor. "Am I going to go blind?"

Laughter became the next thing he was trying to stifle. "No. If you ate the mushroom for the rest of your life, you might lose part of your sight. The Falmer's total blindness is partly the way they've mutated over the ages."

The thief was silent for a long moment, still bent over with his hands on his knees. "I do want to go back to the surface. But I need to go back. I need to find Sergius and the rest of my team."

Aldric watched him impassively. "If you do that, I will not intervene if Brynjolf casts you out."

"Then I must be at peace with that."

Incredulous, he shook his head. "You're weak, and you've been poisoning yourself for days. What price is your life worth, Yousef?"

Yousef straightened up. "This is not about gold. I have to go back for a friend. He's the same as me—neither of us had any idea about Sergius' true nature. He'll get them killed, every single one of them."

"And you'll die if you try to make your way back," Aldric said.

"I feel otherwise. My friend and I have a chance at making it out alive, if I go back for him. We'll take a lift and leave straight away."

The hopeful look in Yousef's eyes was difficult to see. "Before you leave, you'll tell me two things: where you entered Blackreach, and where the rest of the team was when you got separated."

"We came in through Mzinchaleft, I think it's called," Yousef replied. "At least three of us died in there. And we'd been camped for days at that massive, abandoned city when I got lost. Well," he caught himself, "it wasn't exactly _abandoned_ when we found it."

Mzinchaleft was at nearly the exact opposite end of the cavern from Raldbthar, and it was also much closer to the Silent City. Sergius and his team had made it to their goal almost right away.

_That explains why we've seen no trace of them so far_.

"I'm going to tell you how to get back to your team, and then I'm returning to mine and leaving Blackreach," Aldric told Yousef.

Puzzled, the thief cocked his head. "You're going to give up all that gold when you've come this far? Why?"

"Yousef," Aldric pinched the bridge of his nose. "If Sergius has beaten us to the city and whatever the client was after, do you think he's going to split the money with us? Why would we stay?"

"Because," Yousef answered, a wide grin spreading across his face, "he has no idea what to do. He can't figure out how to get what we came for."

* * *

Yousef waited for him outside the small building, looking over the impressive collection of gems and valuables he'd gathered since being separated from the others. He may have been closer to death than he'd ever been in his life, and without weapons or food, but he was still a thief.

True to what he'd said earlier, Aldric found the Centurion returned to its station, locked into its frame to quietly wait for another enemy. Careful to avoid getting too close, he neared the river and the small patio overlooking the water.

The dead Falmer was still there, still curled into the position he remembered. Neat and round, the wound in its back was an obvious indicator of an arrow, but the arrow itself was missing.

He knew he'd pulled it out and examined it, and his dim memory had told him that it was ebony. Scanning the area around him and finding absolutely nothing, he began to think that he'd been mistaken.

Drunker than he'd ever been in his life, he had badly lost to a twelve-foot, solid metal automaton and had no recollection at all of the fight. It was entirely possible he'd been laughably wrong about a single arrow he'd been squinting at in poor lighting.

Shaking his head, he walked back to Yousef, wincing at the pain in his side. Had it been any other time, he would have waited for the thief to leave and then shifted inside the building to heal, but his wolf had suddenly become unpredictable and unfriendly. Changing and losing control inside of Blackreach would be a nightmare, one that he was unwilling to risk.

The beast was uncomfortable inside him, but not dangerous the way it had been earlier. It almost seemed to be lifeless—lethargic, even—after what had happened, and he could only hope that it would stay that way until he was able to leave.

He exchanged a few words with Yousef, and then the thief set off for the Silent City with his directions. Aldric watched him go, wondering if it would be the last time he saw the other man.

Neither of them saw the silently watching figure perched on a stone ledge high above them.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: **Thanks to all the new favorites and follows and the new reviewers! I'm a bit behind on responding to everyone (internet connection is being a butt) so I thought I'd address some things in this note.

In answer to how long this story is going to be: I have no idea. It's not going to be a 100-chapter epic, but Bounty was 50 chapters and this might be the same length; but it's entirely possible it will be shorter as well.

The next chapter will be a VERY important one, and so will the one after it. I'm going to release both of those chapters at the same time so that the flow will remain undisturbed, since it'll technically be one connected scene. I'm sure you all can guess why those chapters are going to be big, so I'm going to be working extremely hard to make sure they're as good as I can make them. My goal for uploading is Friday, but I hope you guys can understand if it ends up being later than that.

* * *

**Chapter 25**

The bottle of Cyrodiilic brandy in his hand was no longer something that he felt positive toward. Half empty, with smudged fingerprints all over the glass and Aldric's scent strong on the mouth of it, it looked like a convenient thing to hate in that moment.

Kaspar considered dropping it over the edge of the stone bridge and sending it to the strange waters beneath. It would be an easy thing to do to hide his friend's wrongdoing—and to keep Twigs' wrath from affecting his pay. Just a loosening of his fingers, really.

With a long sigh, he turned around and returned to Brynjolf and the gangly young man standing by the lift to the pump house. The little broken-down station had begun to feel strongly like a prison.

Silently, he handed the bottle of brandy over to Twigs. Not knowing exactly how to explain the line of thinking behind smuggling it into Blackreach without damning either himself or Aldric, he had already made the choice to talk as little as possible.

"What's this?" he demanded, frowning at the drink.

Kaspar raised his hand and used it to mime tipping back a bottle.

"_Alcohol?_" Twigs' eyebrows shot up, his eyes becoming round with shock.

He nodded.

Twigs groaned, looking at the amount still left. "Don't tell me that Aldric drank this much all on his own."

He knew for a fact that the bottle had been unopened the last time he'd seen it, and he certainly hadn't had any of it.

Brynjolf made a darkly humorous sound. "Don't underestimate Aldric's tolerance for alcohol. He's had five years of practice."

"Why would he take this with us?" Twigs shut his eyes and clapped a hand to his forehead. "He assured me he wouldn't drink inside Blackreach. He promised me. Why?"

Kaspar shrugged.

Twigs stared at him, clearly waiting for a real answer, and then his eyes began to narrow. "What's going on here? Why aren't you talking?"

"Your eyes are very small right now," he said.

Brandy sloshed as Twigs thrust the container out toward him. "Kaspar, did you know something about this?"

"No."

Twigs' left eye twitched.

"Yes."

"Unbelievable!" The young man began to rage, stomping around and sputtering. His neck turned an interesting shade of pink. "This is—I just can't—of _all_ times—"

Instead of anger, concern clouded Brynjolf's face. "This is bad."

Kaspar liked the redhead. The man was a thief, but so was Aldric, and Brynjolf always smelled of warmth and good spirits.

As soon as he'd woken inside the pumping station that day and seen that Aldric was gone, Kaspar knew that he'd been gone for a very long time. The scent inside his bedroll was very faint, and his knapsack had been missing.

Shortly before leaving them that night, he remembered sensing that his friend's wolf was very anxious and tense. It was something Kaspar felt guilty about. Aldric had been touching him, skin to skin, when he'd begun to shift in the field laboratory. He had felt himself sharing the energy of the change, felt the way it had shocked up Aldric's arm.

That was powerful magic. For those new to the blood, or to lesser werewolves—young men and women, or undisciplined wildlings—their beasts could be called simply by touching or being too close to someone else who was changing. More than once, Kaspar had seen it rip through entire groups of people like fire jumping from one water-starved tree to another.

Aldric was a strong, dominant male, but he was also separated from his mate. That could be weakening his wolf in some way that he was unfamiliar with. Drowning himself in alcohol must have been the only way Aldric had felt able to appease the animal.

Twigs had mostly composed himself by the time he turned around again. "You need to fix this," he commanded. "Can't you smell him, or—or something?" he added, a tad uncertainly.

Solemnly, Kaspar shook his head. "This cave does not hold onto scent trails the way the surface would. The air is too wet."

Looking down with a scowl, Twigs studied the road for a long time. "All right. I'm going to talk to Brynjolf. Aldric said you were a good scout, so I need you to search the area around us for any more clues. Can you do that?"

"How far am I to go?"

Twigs looked out beyond him into the cavern. "Not far enough that if you run into trouble, no one will be able to help you."

_With Aldric gone, I am likely to be safe_, he thought. Out loud, he said, "Very well. I will be back soon."

He turned to face Blackreach. They hadn't found any floating, fair-haired corpses so far. So where would a drunken Aldric go? If he left the brandy behind on the stone bridge, then he must have gone forward.

Kaspar followed the road, feeling an echo of the day they had traveled along it to make their way to the city far ahead. The same as that day, he soon reached the point where the stones began to dip into the water. Stopping on his side of the river, he began to scan both banks.

A dead Falmer was splayed near a small outcropping partway down the river. Sighing, he pulled off his boots and loosened his bow from his back, holding everything high above his head as he waded through to the other side.

The body had begun to give off a faint, ripe scent already, telling Kaspar it had been dead for a fair amount of time. He could tell it was an arrow that had done it, but just like the Falmer near the strange tower, the arrow itself was missing.

Then he scanned the mud near the creature, looking for footprints. Not far from the body, deep furrows had been clawed into the soil. Kaspar stepped forward. They matched the marks hands would have made.

He looked up, eyes flicking back and forth near the marks. Huge and very deep prints marred the bank near him, criss-crossing and doubling back over and over again. Something very heavy had tracked the mud.

The Centurion over his shoulder was still safely bound to his metal hoop. Kaspar stared at it, thinking. He did not know much of the Dwemer constructions, but he was unfortunately learning more and more about them nearly every day. Was it possible that the Centurion was trained to return to its berth?

Kaspar stood and stepped into the cold water again, intending to return to Twigs, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. It was a long, darkened shape resting on the bottom of the shallow river. He watched it for a good long time to make sure it was unmoving, and then waded closer to get a better look.

_Aldric's sword._ He used his foot to angle the blade, lifting it and drawing it from the water by its grip. The dragonbone lent it great weight as well as strength—it was as heavy and undamaged as it had always been.

It was also a very grim sign.

Twigs was where he'd left him, near the lift, but Kaspar's sharp ears immediately picked up another voice as he drew closer—soft, feminine, and irritated. Tinúviel.

"Is something wrong?" Twigs asked her.

From within the lift, he heard a huffed sigh. "No, nothing is wrong."

"Yes, it is," the other man insisted. "You're acting…"

"How? How am I acting?"

Twigs' voice grew cross. "I don't know, as if you hate me again."

Another sigh, but gentler this time. "I never hated you, Twigs."

"Are you angry at me, then?"

"No!" she snapped.

"This is what I'm talking about!" Twigs shot back. "You sound—"

"_Yes_, I am angry now, with this investigation!" she interrupted. "It feels like you've been breathing down the back of my neck for the past day and night!"

There was a brief pause. "I'm confused. I mean, when we… made love, everything seemed to be going well after. Did I do something?"

"We did not 'make love.'" Tinúviel's voice was cutting. "Do you know what we made? We made a mistake."

The silence after her reply seemed to vibrate. Even at this distance, Kaspar could tell by the outline of Twigs' body that he was stricken. He chose that moment to stride forward into their line of sight, and Twigs looked down at him with stormy eyes.

"His sword," the other man observed, eyeing the weapon resting on Kaspar's shoulder by the flat of the blade. Twigs closed his eyes. "This isn't good."

"No." Kaspar shook his head. "It is not good. This was submerged in the river near the Centurion we avoided not long ago."

"Did you find any blood?" Tinúviel asked.

"No, I did not."

"Then he may have escaped it." Twigs rubbed at his head. "He has to have, if his body isn't around."

Tinúviel opened her mouth to say something, when her jaw dropped. Kaspar turned around to see what she was goggling at behind him.

A figure approached out of the darkness, walking down the path toward them at a leisurely pace.

"You have _got_ to be joking," Twigs growled.

Aldric looked the worse for wear, with dirty leathers and a faint bruise blushing across the side of his head, but he had all four limbs and seemed to be whole. He walked up to the group, lines of exhaustion plainly written all over his face.

He met Kaspar's eyes. "You found my sword. Where was it?"

Twigs cut him off with anger in his voice. "It was in the river, and Kaspar said he found the Centurion's tracks all over the bank."

"That's right," Aldric confirmed tiredly. "By all accounts, that thing had its way with me."

"What do you mean, 'by all accounts'?" Twigs repeated. "Someone saw it happen?" The explorer swung around, turning to Kaspar. "Did _you_—"

"Enough." Aldric sheathed his weapon and then passed a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes. "Find Brynjolf. I need to speak with him."

Twigs shook his head hotly, stalking away to the lift only to come back with the bottle of brandy. "No." He shoved it into Aldric's face. "I want to hear it from your mouth."

Aldric leaned away from the bottle. "Hear what, that it's mine? Of course it is."

"Just like that." Twigs' arm fell. "You admit it, just like that."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Every person here depends on you." Twigs' voice shook. "You could have been killed. Someone here could have been killed trying to find you."

Aldric released a slow breath. "Nothing happened to anyone, Twigs. Now go get Brynjolf, because I—"

"You are the captain of this team! _Everything_ so far has gone wrong, and you risked lives so that you could _feel good_ for a few hours!"

Aldric's pulse quickened. "Stop yourself right there. You have no idea why I did what I did. Shut your mouth and do what I told you, or—"

The bottle exploded at Aldric's feet. Tinúviel yelped. Liquid sprayed and splinters of glass flew, and both Kaspar and Aldric took a hasty step back.

"Or what, you bastard?" Twigs raged.

Kaspar watched Aldric warily, seeing the muscle jumping in his jaw and the way his chest rose and fell. His head had lowered, strands of his hair hanging in his face, but his eyes were locked on the younger man—like the wolf watching the deer.

"You think I'm afraid of you?" Twigs' voice was sharp. "You think I'm afraid of a drunk?"

Just the same as before, the silence that stretched on was heavy and thick like rain clouds. Something terrible was building in the air.

Aldric took a fast step forward.

Tinúviel and Kaspar were both there between them then, each trying to push the two back. Soft and soothing, Tinúviel murmured to Twigs as she laid her hands on his arms.

Aldric still strained against Kaspar's grip, and he looked down at him distractedly. The scout planted his feet, pushing back ever so slightly, and a deep snarl ripped up from Aldric's chest.

"No, my friend," Kaspar said quietly.

He could feel the other man's wolf, strong and restless, and his own beast wanted nothing more than to back away from the more dominant man. It was a mighty instinct—one that, if he listened, might result in someone getting very hurt.

So he held on, hoping that Aldric would come to his senses and that he would not have to fight him. Kaspar knew he would lose that one, badly.

After a rough moment, Aldric stepped back. Kaspar risked a look behind him, seeing that the tiny elf was still blocking Twigs, the front of her body pressed to his. The young man's face was still and hard to read.

"Tinúviel, get Brynjolf and bring him to me," Aldric ordered.

Twigs sounded, as he should, uncertain. "What about me?"

At the look on the other man's face, Kaspar thought he should not move away just yet. Jaw tight and eyes hard, Aldric finally answered him.

"Get the fuck away from me."

* * *

Brynjolf had been pleased to see Aldric alive and well, but his cheer had quickly left him when he heard the tale of the other thief within Blackreach. Tinúviel and Kaspar stood with the two of them, and Twigs had wandered off somewhere by himself not long ago.

"That little rat," the red-haired man spat. "He betrayed us. He betrayed _you_."

"He had no idea Sergius was that kind of man."

"That's not all of it, Aldric. He went against my direct orders—orders that are supposed to have your weight behind them." Brynjolf was cold and furious.

"He saved my life. I would have died, drowned in that lake." Aldric's arms were crossed in front of him. "Discipline him, fine him, suspend him, I don't care. For what he did, he can keep his place."

That didn't satisfy Brynjolf. "I can't have that kind of thief in the Guild, Aldric. I need to be able to trust them. They're 'criminal scum' to everyone else, but we're supposed to be…" His hands threaded through his hair.

"Brothers? A family?" Aldric snapped. "Gold talks, and for that amount, it walks. Frankly, I'm surprised no one else in the Guild did the same damn thing. Yousef stays for now."

Brynjolf seemed to be trying very hard to keep his mouth closed.

Tinúviel had watched the back-and-forth without speaking until now. "I think Twigs needs to be told about the other team."

Aldric agreed. "He does, and so does the rest of them. Tell everyone to gather their things and meet us up here."

"Are we leaving?" she asked him.

"We are." He looked directly into her eyes. "We're heading for the Silent City, and we're finishing this."

* * *

The trip to the city went more smoothly than Kaspar would have thought. Like inside Raldbthar, any threats they encountered were taken out by the two cats or Aldric. For perhaps the first time since they had entered the dwarven ruin, things seemed to be going the right way.

Twigs called for a stop once they were quite close. The outer walls of the city loomed dark and tall overhead, imposing like a fortress Kaspar had seen once. He looked up at it all, wondering what they would find inside with the second team.

Aldric stood well apart with him, far from the others, as Twigs approached. He came hesitant and subdued, like a submissive male, but he came nonetheless.

"If Sergius is really in there," he started, "then you need to know what we're after before we enter."

"Yes, I do," Aldric said. "I need to know everything that you know."

"Everything I know," Twigs pulled out his small book, "is in here. And it's not much, only speculations and exceptionally vague writings. Sergius has had days, at the least, of working to figure this out—and once we show ourselves, it's only a matter of time before things get ugly. We'll have to think fast."

Aldric and Kaspar were silent, watching him.

Twigs turned and faced the city. "Have you seen the orb before, when you were in Blackreach?" he asked, pointing.

Kaspar followed the length of his arm. From where they stood, they could only see a sliver of the strange thing; it was huge and bright and hung over the city like a false sun. Maybe that was what it had been, once.

"Yes," Aldric replied. "And before you ask, I have no idea what it is, and I didn't stay long enough to find out."

Twigs turned around again with a smile that did nothing to warm his face. "Well," he said, "you're going to have to try harder than that this time."


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N:** I'm sorry I'm late with this! I shouldn't have said I would post by last Friday, I have no idea why I thought I could pump out more than twenty pages in four days. So this is the first one, and Chapter 27 will be posted a bit later today while I do some last-minute editing.

Ulrich Bienne belongs to **SirronRocks**, also known as Josh. (Ulrich's - and Jon Battle-Born's - mention of warrior poets always makes me think of Cpl. Person's line in Generation Kill: _"As the great warrior poet Ice Cube once said, the day that does not require an AK is a good one."_ Sorry. Couldn't resist.)

* * *

**Chapter 26**

Aldric entered the Silent City from the north with the Tower of Mzark hazily lit like a distant beacon behind him. The massive walls all around the city prevented him from knowing anything about what they would all face within. Walking in blind, willingly, was something he had almost never done.

The smell of death and decay rode the breeze from inside, something even Twigs had noticed. Coming into the walled city knowing they were outnumbered and facing that scent was not something that pleased his wolf.

The Silent City had clearly once been a grand and impressive place—and, like every creation the Dwemer had left behind, it had slowly sunk into ruin and disrepair over the hundreds and thousands of years that had passed. Some doorways into the towers around him had been caved in with rock and rubble, and dirt and plant life had begun to quietly infiltrate the city.

He passed into the structure, walking very slowly and calmly with both hands clearly exposed. High above him, pathways had been constructed on nearly every wall. Falmer had patrolled them once, guarding the home they had taken over, but now they were empty.

And Aldric could see what had happened to the creatures that had lived there. A pile of bodies had been unceremoniously dumped in a corner of the complex not far from him. Falmer, along with a dozen or more of their human slaves, were heaped in a pile of tangled limbs.

His gorge rose when the scent reached him. Blood mingled with the pungent odor of excrement swept past him, and he turned his head away. Some of the bodies had been brutally torn apart, their bellies slit open in wide flaps to let bluish-black entrails spill out over the ground.

Aldric stopped where he was, unwilling to go any further from the wall close behind him. The orb above him was blinding, lighting up the city square like high noon. Somewhere further in, he could hear the low murmur of male voices.

He didn't have to wait long before someone came into view. A man in brown leather strode across the square, his gait comfortable and easy like someone at the marketplace in Whiterun. Aldric wondered if he would have to call out to him, when suddenly the man caught sight of him.

Frozen, the other man stared at him for a long moment. Aldric spread his hands out from himself, keeping them low and well away from the hilt of his greatsword. The man approached with his own weapon drawn, a plain steel one-handed axe.

When he got close enough, Aldric was surprised to recognize him. Thin and shaved bald, with a long, jagged scar running across his face, he was the man he'd put down with an empty glass bottle at Breezehome.

"You have a new scar now," Aldric observed.

The man's hand rose halfway to the mark on the side of his head before he could stop himself. His face flushed. "You _are_ a stupid one," he breathed. "You brought that little squirrel of a boy with you, didn't you?"

Aldric kept his voice even as he answered. "His name is Twigs."

"And your team?"

"They're waiting beyond the city, further into the cavern." It wasn't a lie, though it was a stretch. Twigs and the rest of them weren't far behind him, on the grand set of stairs leading up to the Silent City.

The man looked past him and then back at him. "Now then, Aldric, why don't you tell me what you're doing here?"

Aldric noticed he hadn't loosened his grip on the axe. At this distance, a fast lunge would put him close enough to do some damage before Aldric's greatsword could clear its sheath. "You know my name, and I don't know yours. That's not very polite of you."

The other man sneered. "You don't need my name."

Movement registered to Aldric's left, and he could see without directly looking that the walkways above him were slowly filling with more men. At least three or four of them had crossed out onto the path nearest him.

"His name is Geirulf," a new voice said, belonging to a figure quickly approaching from behind the man with the scar. "And his axe will be buried in your chest if you don't answer his question."

Aldric didn't need to be told who the person addressing him was. "Sergius."

The explorer was of average height and build, light-skinned with close-cut dark golden hair, and nothing about his body or the scuffed leather he wore was impressive. Intimidation was very rarely about how tall or muscled one was, though—and Aldric could see right away that Sergius' authority and threat came from his eyes.

They were a pale color; green or maybe blue; and they were hard and flat and lifeless under fair, colorless brows. The stare that came from his face was unlike any other Aldric had ever seen from man or mer. It was a cold serpentine cruelty that looked out from behind Sergius' eyes.

Some of the taunting glee had left Geirulf's face at Sergius' appearance. "He says his team is waiting beyond the city."

"We'll find them," Sergius said.

He spoke well, smooth and calm, with a pleasant voice. It was his secure, emotionless tone that chilled Aldric. "I'm not here to muscle you out, Sergius."

"No, you aren't," the Imperial agreed. "I have fifteen—well, fourteen, as of this morning—men with me. And I don't bother with hiring little mages or healers or archers. Every man here is very good at the only thing I require them to be: killing."

"I don't doubt you," Aldric replied. He didn't. "How long have you been here?"

"A week, give or take a day or two." Sergius waved a hand. "We arrived well before you did, something I'm certain of."

"Given the time it took you to make your way through Mzinchaleft," Aldric told him casually, "and travel to the city, you did arrive first."

The skin around Sergius' eyes tightened only briefly at the knowledge that Aldric was aware of which ruin they'd come through. "Then you know we've won."

He let his gaze travel upward to the orb. Looking at it head on, he had to fight the urge to shade his eyes. "I don't think that's true. I think you've been here for a week and you've made no progress at all."

"It did take some time to clear the vermin from the city." The man waved his hand toward the massacre nearby. "And after all that, I had one of my crew escort some wounded back to the surface. My attention has been divided until recently."

Bluffing out of that monstrous face was still bluffing. "I have a proposal for you."

Sergius bared his teeth in an impression of a smile. "I'm not interested in hearing it."

"Fine." Aldric lowered his hands back to his sides again. Geirulf's axe twitched. "Then I'll gather my team and leave for the surface."

"That would be most wise of you, Aldric."

"But if we stay, and help you figure out what the orb is, then we'll split the pay."

Geirulf frowned, puzzled, like Aldric had just offered to marry him. "Why would you do that?"

"Half of fifty thousand septims is still a lot of money, Geirulf," he said dryly.

"Yes it is." Sergius smiled again, wider this time. "But you see, I've been paid half already, before I even set foot inside this place. Even if I fail my contract, I go home rich."

Aldric wondered at the kind of bargain the man must have driven with Augustus. "_You've_ been paid half," he guessed. "Not your men. Not Geirulf."

"That's right."

He finally let himself look up and around him at the people gathered on the pathways, to his side and across the pavilion. "I'm not usually a betting man, but I'd be willing to wager some gold on the fact that these men would like a fighting chance at theirs. You're at least halfway intelligent, so I'd also bet that you can grasp the same thing Augustus did: two teams means you're twice as likely to succeed."

Sergius followed his gaze around them, and the set of his mouth told Aldric that he was angry. The men on his team, the ones who were so good at killing, had heard his words about losing their pay—and the ones on the walkway that had drawn their bows were lowering them now.

The man looked back at Aldric, his cold eyes fixing on him. "I think I'll take my chances alone, if it's all the same to you."

"And if you fail?" Aldric asked him. "Will you divide that twenty-five thousand fourteen ways?"

Sergius didn't have to speak to say no.

"You only benefit from this," Aldric said. "Halving my pay will double yours, and make your job that much easier. It's simple. Who wouldn't say yes to those terms?"

"It's not the gold he cares about this time," a voice called behind Aldric. "He wants the glory."

Aldric closed his eyes, annoyed, as footsteps behind him drew closer.

Twigs stopped beside him, glaring at Sergius. "For once you're ignoring the wealth, aren't you?"

Sergius looked him up and down. "Well. It's been a few years since I've seen you. It's remarkable the way sometimes even the most promising children fail to improve as they grow. You're older, but might be even stupider than you were when you were nineteen, which is fascinating."

Geirulf's grin tugged at the scar on his face. Aldric got the feeling he didn't do it a lot.

Twigs ignored them and spoke to Aldric. "He wants the credit for discovering what the orb is, what it means. Scholars all across Tamriel haven't been able to figure it out. Sergius wants his name to be the one in the books when they write about who discovered it."

"It'd be a nice little prize, yes," Sergius acknowledged.

"No one here cares about who gets credited," Aldric interjected. But even as he said that, something on Twigs' face told him that wasn't true.

Sergius didn't miss it, either. "I think our little friend here cares _very_ much about who gets the credit," he said. "Don't you, Fuldarr?"

Twigs shook his head. "I'm an explorer, Sergius. I only care about finding what I'm after, and the adventure along the way."

Sergius gave a low laugh. "I almost believe that, you know. Those are Háls' words, aren't they? I can hear your father through you."

Aldric sensed Twigs' pulse climbing.

"And what did he learn, in the end?" Sergius cocked his head a little. "Hmm? He drowned an old, foolish man in a forgotten cave that no one's ever heard of. What would he say if he could see you now, Fuldarr? What has become of his legacy? You're nobody. You're worthless. You couldn't even hold onto a rope to save his life."

When the seconds ticked past and it became clear Twigs had nothing to say to that, Sergius continued.

"Did Augustus tell you that you were his second choice?" he asked. At Twigs' continuing silence, he chuckled. "Of course not. You see, when he hired me, he tried to get me to take you along. He was so insistent on it. I told him that you were one of the most useless apprentices I'd ever tried to train—that you were like a dog that just… didn't get it." Sergius shook his head in distaste. "It didn't surprise me when I learned that he'd decided to take pity on you and give you a contract. I told him it would be a shameful waste of gold, but you know how some people are. They just cannot resist taking in a stray." And then he laughed.

Aldric glanced over at Twigs. His eyes were wide and staring, and they held a pain so naked that it was difficult to look at. It was obvious that Twigs believed, in the deepest part of himself, that everything Sergius had just said about him was true.

The leftover tension from the confrontation Aldric had had with Twigs immediately disappeared. Suddenly, watching Sergius laugh, he found himself gripped with a surprising level of protective fury. If he struck fast enough, he was halfway sure the man's mouth would still smile while his head rolled across the ground.

Aldric raised his voice over Sergius' laughter. "I'll put my entire cut on the line."

The man stopped abruptly. "Excuse me?"

He looked back at him calmly. "You heard what I said. You let us stay, and I'll give you my cut. All of it."

Sergius looked him up and down. "And if you find the solution first, I'm left with nothing, I take it? That's not a very tempting proposal."

"No." Aldric shook his head. "You can keep my money even if you lose. That's an extra fifty thousand septims to divide amongst your men without having to give up any of that advance pay you took."

The shadow of a line appeared between Sergius' brows. "Then what are you to gain by winning?"

Aldric looked over at Twigs. "Fuldarr takes the credit for figuring out the orb. Every fucking bit of it."

Twigs turned his head in shock to meet his eyes.

All eyes were on Sergius. Even Geirulf watched him. All four of them, standing there surrounded by mercenaries, knew that for Sergius to turn down the offer would mean unsavory things for him down the road if they couldn't unlock the secrets the Silent City offered.

Sergius was smart, and had sensed the shift in atmosphere. "It seems I don't have much of a choice, doesn't it?" he hissed.

Aldric held out his hand to the other man, unable to hold back a smile. "Then I offer you luck, Sergius. You might need it. You of all people should know how stubborn he is." He cocked his head toward Twigs. "Once he sets his mind to something, he gets it."

Sergius looked down at his hand in disgust before walking back the way he'd come with Geirulf.

* * *

"That is sickening," Tinúviel announced upon seeing the pile of bodies.

Lyssa gasped. "Where did they come from?"

Aldric didn't glance behind him at the corpses. "Many Falmer lived here. This was called the Silent City partly because of the absence of Dwemer, and partly because of the Falmer."

The archer couldn't seem to tear her eyes away. "But… there are people in there. Men and women."

Aldric noticed that even Brynjolf was studying the gruesome display. "The Falmer had slaves, human slaves. I'm not sure how that happened."

"Perhaps they sought the creatures out," Kaspar suggested.

Tinúviel frowned. "Came to Blackreach looking for them, you mean? _Wanting_ to serve them?"

The scout nodded.

"That's insane."

"I do not pretend to understand the mind." Kaspar shrugged. "But the Falmer are strange and fascinating. Sometimes people become obsessed with things they do not understand."

"_Renrij_," Raj muttered, shaking his head. "_Vala vasa_, _an sri jo'tenurr._"

"Mercenaries, captured by dark magic," Khal clarified.

Tinúviel pointed at him in agreement and looked at Aldric.

"Both of those theories sound likely to me," he said, kneeling on the ground to secure his pack. "Don't dwell on it. There's nothing we can do about it now, and if we work fast, we won't have to be around it for long."

Sergius had gathered more of his team and was stationed on the opposite side of the square. While his men were talking, he stood motionless on the outskirts of his group and watched Aldric, taking in Twigs and the others.

Yousef rounded the corner and made his way toward Aldric with another person in tow. The thief's right eye was bruised a deep purple, nearly forced shut by the swelling.

"Was that your reward for making it back to the city?" Aldric asked him.

Yousef nodded. "I never got the chance to make for the surface with my friend. Sergius thought I'd deserted him for you. Geirulf wanted him to kill me."

That didn't surprise him. "And why didn't they?"

"Because none of the rest of them can pick a lock worth a damn, and Yousef has come in very handy for that," said the man behind the thief, stepping around him to come closer.

Aldric blinked up at him and rose from the ground. "Ulrich Bienne, you are one of the last people I would have expected to find here."

The man flashed a handsome smile. "Why? Have you not heard of the famous warrior poets of Skyrim?"

Yousef, along with Brynjolf and Tinúviel, frowned. "You know each other?"

Tall and blond, with leaf-green eyes that were almost always smiling, Ulrich was the only soldier Aldric had ever met that could sing and play a lute as well as he could swing a sword.

Ulrich was also the only half-Altmer person, man or woman, he'd ever met, which was something he kept to himself. Ironically, he'd also been part of the Stormcloaks for years. The bard was the kind of person that never did what was predictable, and seemed to enjoy smashing expectations into dust.

The more he thought about it, the less surprised he was to find Ulrich in Blackreach.

"Met at the Bard's College in Solitude," Aldric told Yousef. "A long time ago. I'd just come to Skyrim."

A look of pure delight rolled over Tinúviel's face. "You were a _bard?_"

Aldric rolled his eyes. "I was passing through, looking for any kind of work I could find. The College gave easy jobs and paid well."

"He could've been one." Ulrich's eyes gleamed with mischief. "One night we found out that he'll sing if you give him enough spiced wine. Not a bad voice at all. Vingalmo would've taken him in a second."

"Now that is something I think I would like to see," said Kaspar.

Brynjolf laughed. "Aye."

Aldric quickly changed the subject. "Why did Sergius take you? You're not the same breed of sellsword that he seems partial to."

Ulrich shrugged. "I was visiting the College. He came poking around, asking if he could borrow a bard that could write down everything that happened here. No one else wanted to do it, so I volunteered. I'm always up for a good adventure."

Twigs' words about Sergius wanting his name written in books about Blackreach came back to him. "That's humble." Sergius was still staring at them. "I don't think both of you should be over here with us."

Ulrich looked over his shoulder before Aldric could stop him. "I'm not afraid of him."

"I didn't say you should be, but you're still part of his team, and you should work with him."

"Why?" Yousef looked offended. "Why not stay with you?"

"Because," Aldric said, "I told Sergius we'd split our earnings with his team if he allowed us to enter the city, no matter who figures this out first."

"I'll gladly take half if it means we can get away from that brute," Ulrich stated.

"I understand, but doing that right now might cause problems. If you—"

"Augustus won't pay the two of you if you join us," Twigs interrupted.

Everyone looked over to him. "What?" Yousef asked.

Twigs was staring off into the distance, sitting cross-legged on the ground. "He won't pay the two of you. You were hired to the other team. There are two separate contracts." His voice was monotone.

Ulrich looked like he might have something to say about that, but Aldric shook his head. "You can leave with us, if you'd like. But for now, just head back over to him."

The two men reluctantly turned and began to cross the pavilion to where Sergius and the rest of his men were gathered. Aldric watched them go, and then sat down next to Twigs. One by one, everyone else began to find a spot on the ground, until they were all sitting in a circle around Twigs, looking at him like attentive ducklings.

Twigs looked up at Aldric, his eyes dull. "We're not going to be able to do this. When Sergius feels pressured, he doesn't hold anything back. He'll blow that orb from the cave ceiling if he wants to."

"What does Sergius know about the orb?" Lyssa asked. "Did he say?"

"No," Aldric told her. "He didn't share information."

Twigs gave a dark smirk. "He doesn't know anything about it."

"How can you be sure of that?"

"Because he never thinks he has to know anything about what he's after," Twigs said simply. "Any time anything has ever stood in his way—a puzzle, a trap—he just destroys it. He's never had to _think_ before."

Aldric liked the sound of that. "Then we have something he doesn't have."

Twigs frowned. "What?"

Gently, Aldric pulled the worn journal out of the other man's lap and held it up to him. "Research."

* * *

For the twelfth time, Lyssa took aim with her bow and then released. The arrow shot straight to the orb, and then clinked against the ornate iron bars it was caged in. She hadn't yet managed to strike the object itself, only the bars.

"Again," Aldric said. "Keep going until you hit it."

With a nod, she drew another arrow from her quiver and nocked it.

So far, they were the only ones in the center of the square. Sergius and his team were still on their side of the plaza, silently observing Aldric and his team. Arms crossed, watching Lyssa shoot, Aldric felt his wolf beginning to stir, eager to fight against him the same way it had before.

Desperate for a distraction, he turned to Twigs. "Tell me about your father."

Blinking in surprise, he looked over at him. "Why?"

"I want to hear what he was really like. Not what that horse's ass had to say about him."

Twigs glanced over at Sergius for a brief second. "Sergius was right about his age. He was old when he died… maybe too old to be climbing around in caves with me," he admitted. "He married my mother when he was almost fifty. Other children always thought he was my grandfather."

Aldric chuckled even as he felt sweat break out on his forehead. _Not now._ "Why so late in life?"

Twigs shrugged. "I asked him that a few times when I was older. He never told me, but once my mother said he hadn't had a good life before he met her."

"She changed that for him?"

"My mother is a lot like my sister," Twigs said. "They're fixers. They always seem to know exactly what to do, exactly what to say. I think that's what my father needed."

"Was he good to you?"

A quiet moment passed. "Yes. He was a great father. My mother said he was a hothead when they met, had absolutely no patience, but that he changed when my sister and I were born. He taught me all he knew about caves, tombs, everything else. To everyone else he seemed hard, but to us… he was always kind."

One of Lyssa's arrows landed on the ground only a few paces from them, rolling to a stop. Aldric stared at it, trying hard to concentrate and control his beast.

"What was your father like?" Twigs asked him.

"I never met him," he said.

"Oh." Twigs rubbed the back of his neck. "Did he die, or…?"

"I have no idea. He took off when my mother became pregnant with me," Aldric told him.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

Another moment passed. Lyssa stopped for a few seconds and rotated her shoulder and neck.

"I wanted to say," Twigs said suddenly, "that I'm sorry for… how I acted when you returned. I thought you were dead, and right before you showed up Tinúviel and I—"

"Kaspar told me." Aldric glanced at him. "It's not your fault, Twigs. Something isn't right with me, with my wolf."

Twigs looked curious. "What do you mean?"

Aldric was about to answer when Tinúviel let out a long, ragged growl of irritation. "This isn't working! She's hit the orb at least four times, I can see sparks when she does it!"

He straightened in surprise. "Why didn't you say anything, Lyssa?"

"I was attempting to hit the same spot many times to see if that would do anything."

Aldric motioned for Raj, who was waiting nearby. The dark Khajiit stepped up, looking eager. Flames gathered in his cupped palm, and a second later a massive burst of fire rolled forth, ripping through the air toward the sphere. Aldric felt a lick of heat slap against his face.

The fireball exploded into the cage, sparks showering down on them like raindrops caught on fire. The men on Sergius' team all whooped and hollered, some swearing, at the display. The orb rocked, swaying back and forth on its tether in a painfully long moment.

Nothing happened.

Tinúviel bent and seized a rock the size of her fist, lobbing it with an enraged yell at the orb. It sailed halfway there and landed harmlessly on the ground far from them. "I hate this thing!"

Aldric almost laughed, but he caught sight of Sergius' face.

"We have already done everything you've tried today, Aldric," the man called from his side of the square.

He turned to Twigs. "Read over your notes again. We must be missing something."

Brynjolf had drawn up beside them, looking tired. "But maybe we aren't, lad." He smoothed a hand over his scratchy beginnings of a beard. "So much about the Dwemer was lost when their cities started to crumble. We may never know what the orb does. Shor's bones, _they_ may not have known what it does."

Twigs was frowning, flipping back and forth through the pages of his journal. "Augustus was able to get his hands on some of Thelwe Gelein's private notes, pages from something he never got to publish that had been recovered and preserved by his relatives." He paused, looking up at Brynjolf and Aldric. "He was the one who wrote the _Dwemer Inquiries _series."

"I know who he is, Twigs."

"Right. Ah… here. In one text, Gelein mentions that besides referring to the orb as something important, the only other word he could translate was 'summon.'" Twigs looked up again.

Brynjolf squinted. "So… you summon the orb."

"Maybe? I don't know, the writings weren't very clear..."

"Do you know any of the dwarven language? Perhaps if you were to…"

Aldric slowly tuned them out, staring upward at the sphere. Almost directly beneath it, he could make out thin, spindly etchings all over the brilliant surface. He kept expecting to feel heat bathing him, like the sun, but the air around him was as cool as the rest of Blackreach.

"The orb summons something," Aldric said, interrupting Brynjolf and Twigs.

They turned to look at him in unison. "Come again?" Twigs asked.

"That orb will summon something," he repeated. "That is what it does."

Mouth slack, Twigs craned his neck and looked up at it. "I think you might be right about that."

Sometime during the conversation, Tinúviel had appeared. "But we're still no closer to discovering _how_ to make it summon something."

"And I don't think we should do that, even if we do figure it out," Aldric added.

She nodded vehemently. "I fully agree with you."

"Why not?" Twigs protested. "If we could just—"

"Twigs, you have no idea what that thing could call," Aldric snapped. "It could be anything. It could be a small army of Centurions, or it could wake every single living creature inside of Blackreach and bring them here. It could be something we've never even dreamed of. Don't forget that the entire race of dwarves disappeared and nobody really knows why."

"Do you really think all of us together couldn't handle whatever that thing calls?"

Aldric turned to see Sergius standing behind him. "I am not that arrogant. The Dwemer had access to things that powerful mages and scholars are _still_ trying to understand, thousands of years later."

"I find myself beginning to care about caution less and less," Sergius said, sounding bored. "I've been in this business for more than half my life and I have never faced something that couldn't be put down with brute force."

Silently, Aldric's wolf growled. "When you get reckless, you get hurt."

Sergius looked at Twigs. "What was it Augustus said, Fuldarr? The orb was a source of power. Now that we know the orb itself is merely a signal, whatever it speaks to must be the source of power."

Twigs' mouth was a tight line. "I suppose."

"You see?" Sergius gave another of his lizard smiles. "Anything I've ever been hired to track down that has been called 'powerful' has always been merely expensive or rare. You would think that 'power' could mean many different things, but usually it just means 'money.'"

"There are a lot of things wrong with what you just said," Aldric began, pinching the bridge of his nose, "the first of which is that you're forgetting to consider the mindset of the Dwemer. Many things inside Blackreach are powerful, yes, but dangerous and unexplained."

"Like the Tower of Mzark," Twigs put in.

Sergius snorted. "The Tower of Mzark. I've been inside, I've examined that thing, and it does nothing. It wouldn't budge. A pretty, but useless, machine."

"That's because it already did what it was designed for." Aldric spoke through gritted teeth before he could think better of it.

Sergius' brows raised. "And how would _you_ know that?"

He pushed his hair out of his face with both hands. "Forget I said anything."

"Blackreach has been rumored to hold many incredible things." The Imperial's gaze flicked up to the orb. "All but extinct creatures, rare and deadly plants, fantastic wealth… even Elder Scrolls."

"Really?" Tinúviel said, sounding skeptical. "Here?"

Aldric could feel Sergius' gaze, intense on him. "Yousef mentioned that he knew you'd been to Blackreach before."

Brynjolf stood a little straighter.

Aldric could feel the pressure building around them, like something tangible he could almost touch. His wolf tensed within him.

Sergius took a step closer, his eyes locked on Aldric. "You know what the machine does in the Tower, don't you? You know what it was designed for."

Even Twigs was looking at him.

"What did it give you?" Sergius pressed, moving closer. "That jade receptacle. What did it hold? What could a machine of that vast size and power have been guarding, Aldric?"

He clenched his jaw.

Sergius was just about close enough to touch him. His voice was low, almost hushed. "Was it an Elder Scroll?"

For a split second, Aldric thought he might lose the battle of wills with his wolf and snarl instead of speak. "Back away."

Sergius began to walk backward. "I'll return to my team, for now. And I'll keep watching you, Aldric. I think you might have a secret or two that I would very much like to learn."

He turned to Brynjolf once the man had gone far enough. "We need to figure this out, or we need to leave. Quickly."

Brynjolf nodded, still watching the Imperial. "I don't like the way he's behaving. He's too smart."

Aldric crossed his arms while Twigs started the process of scouring his notes again. The younger man was muttering to himself, forefinger flying over each line of scribbled ink.

"I can't…" Twigs shook his head. "I can't find anything else here, Aldric. I'm sorry. The most useful piece of information I could find was Gelein's copy of what he was able to translate concerning the orb. It just mentions the orb, and power, and the word 'summon.'"

Tinúviel sighed. "Maybe we should just leave, then. That man is getting more and more nasty the longer we're here."

"Is that _everything_, Twigs?" Aldric asked.

"Yes."

"Every single thing you could possibly tell me from that journal?" he stressed. "Even things you might think aren't important to me?"

"Yes! Well, except for this. I noticed it about an hour ago, but I'm probably wrong." At Aldric's stare, Twigs bent his head over his notes again. "All right, well… it's just that I think it's possible that Gelein mistranslated the word he thought was 'power.' In Dwemeri, these two words are very similar, and it's easy to see how he might've—"

"Twigs, Twigs," Aldric stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "What is the word you think he got wrong?"

"Force." Twigs' soft brown eyes met his. "I think the original inscription might have said 'force' instead of 'power.'"

"Orb. Force. Summon." Tinúviel said out loud. "I don't understand. By all means, striking that thing should have worked. We've done everything—_Sergius_ has done everything—we possibly could have to rattle it."

"Short of an army and its resources, yes," Twigs agreed.

"Then what more can we do?" she demanded. "What could we possibly do that could hit it with enough force to get it to work?"

Brynjolf slowly turned to face Aldric. Very few times in his life had Aldric ever been able to understand exactly what another person was trying to say to him using just a look on their face, but it was happening then.

Aldric concentrated hard on ignoring him.

Twigs had closed the little book in his hand. "I don't know," he said, shoulders slumping. "I told you, I'm probably wrong. Gelein was a master scholar, and I'm just a cave-crawler."

Brynjolf cleared his throat.

"But if you are right, then the Dwemer must have known what could unlock this thing, something powerful enough," Tinúviel countered.

Brynjolf's elbow nudged his side, hard.

Aldric finally turned to him, glaring. "Don't," he warned.

"Don't what?" Twigs looked up.

"I think Aldric might have a solution," Brynjolf told him, a grin creeping across his face.

Tinúviel looked confused. "You do?"

Aldric wanted to scream. "Even if I did, there's still the problem of what this thing summons."

Twigs still looked unconvinced. "I still want to find out. I don't like Sergius, and I don't respect him, but he has a point. Whatever it is has got to be worth it. Was…" he trailed off for a second before gathering his courage. "Was he right? Did you find an Elder Scroll in the Tower of Mzark?"

Aldric didn't answer.

"You did," Twigs breathed. Then his eyes opened wide. "You _did._"

Tinúviel's jaw dropped. "That oaf was right?"

"Ysmir's beard!" Twigs exclaimed. "That oaf was _right!_"

"Aldric, there could be another one here, another Elder Scroll." Tinúviel looked like she wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him.

"Something might be inside of it, after all," Twigs speculated excitedly. "Please, Aldric, I'm begging you, if you know how to get it to work…"

Brynjolf tilted his head in a playful shrug. "Might not be a bad idea."

Aldric bowed his head, his hand bunching into fists, fighting to swallow his frustration, and his wolf chose that moment to make its bid for freedom. A ripple vibrated down his spine, from the base of his skull to his tailbone, the very beginning of his change.

His head jerked up and he stepped back from everyone. Looking up at the orb, Aldric channeled every bit of the anger and rage and fear that he was feeling at that moment. He reached deep inside of him for the power that he had not called on in so long, and he opened his mouth.

The quiet of Blackreach was shattered as his Thu'um rent the air. The ancient words were lost in the deafening crack of thunder as the force of his Shout slammed into the orb. The iron cage around it shuddered, and the dust of a thousand years of stillness began to rain down over them.

Aldric lowered his head, blinking. It had been years since he'd Shouted, and he'd almost forgotten the way it felt to unleash the Thu'um. Momentarily stunned into submission, his wolf faded.

Every single pair of eyes was trained on him. Brynjolf and Kaspar were the only ones that didn't sport looks of utter shock, terror, wonder, or disbelief. Everyone was frozen, rooted to where they stood, as if any kind of sudden movement might prompt him to do it again.

Sergius was the first to recover. He started to walk to Aldric, eyes dark in that expressionless face, when something happened.

The orb above them flashed, a brief second of brightness, and Aldric felt a push of energy from it that punched into him and crawled around his spine. He had never felt anything like it, but somehow it seemed familiar.

High above them, a deep tone rang out, like an impossibly large gong had been struck. It echoed out again and again through the cavern before fading into silence once again.

It had worked. The orb was summoning something.

Still motionless, every gaze moved from Aldric to the space around them. Each entrance to the Silent City somehow seemed much more ominous than before. As the silence stretched on, so did the tension; what would come out of the darkness for them?

And then he heard it. It was unmistakable. Wind billowed in steady, impossibly huge gusts as the flap of enormous wings rode the air toward them. The blood drained from Aldric's face seconds before a furious roar erupted from the shadows.

He looked up in time to see the dark outline of the beast glide over the city, coasting on wide-spread wings as its head tilted down to observe all of them. It challenged them again, bellowing even louder than his Shout as it circled.

He was handsome. His scales gleamed bronze, washed to a rosy glow by the light of the orb. Darker patterns splashed across his wings, and Aldric could tell by the tattered edges of them and the curve of his horns that he was very, very old.

"_DRAGON!_" screamed one of the men to Aldric's right.

The man's fearful alarm served to jerk the others out of their stupor, and voices began to rise on both sides. Some of the men broke and ran, sprinting out of the city. Some of them moved toward Aldric, looking expectantly at him. He could pick out the high pitch of Tinúviel, who was fighting to make her way toward Aldric through the people that were swarming around her.

"Get the woman!" Sergius could be heard yelling over the noise as he furiously began to gather his belongings.

"No one's been able to get close to her!" Geirulf yelled back, his axe once more in his hand. "She took Sakir's ear yesterday when he—"

"I don't care!" Sergius snarled, shoving the man. "Find that bitch and her bow _now!_"

"Aldric!" Tinúviel was suddenly there in front of him, Brynjolf and Kaspar not far behind. Twigs stood well away from them, gaping up at the beast circling overhead. "What do we do?"

"There she is!" Geirulf pointed behind Sergius.

Distracted, Aldric looked behind Tinúviel to see who Geirulf was pointing at. Across the square, a figure had exited the doors of the tower that lead to the platforms far above them. He was about to answer Tinúviel when he saw that the person was ignoring Geirulf and Sergius entirely, walking straight to them.

She was thirty feet from him when he stopped breathing.

His ears were still ringing from the force of his Shout, and he wondered if he was hallucinating. He remembered the way he had been so sure that she was in Blackreach, after Yousef had found him, and then how he had realized how stupid it was to think that.

She moved closer to him, slower now. Her face was hidden by the same kind of masked hood she'd worn when he had seen her for the first time—but those eyes, the color of Dwemer ingots, were as unmistakable as the sound of the dragon's wings.

He was back in Falkreath, watching her glare at him possessively, standing over the elk her arrow had taken down before his.

"_I've been tracking this bull since damn near the Jerall Mountains."_

And then he was back in Riften, in Honeyside, in bed with her. Sleepy and naked and lying on his side to face her, he held her close, so close. The black silk of her hair fell over his arm. Her lips moved against his throat as she whispered to him.

"_You feel like home to me." _

Years of rehearsing what he would say to her if he ever saw her again were failing him. Not a damn word came out of his mouth.

Another burst of light flared across her face, and fire reflected in her eyes, and she finally tore her gaze from his to look up. Distantly, Aldric could feel the ground under his boots shaking, and men were screaming around him, but he couldn't move.

Rory pulled down the mask over her face and yelled at him. "Kill the dragon, you idiot!"


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: **Phew. Here it is, finally. This chapter switches to a couple of different character's perspectives, marked by breaks so you don't get confused.

* * *

**Chapter 27**

Almost every night she saw his face when she slept; every morning she woke with the ghostly feeling of his arms around her, his weight on top of her, his face cradled in her hands.

It could not have prepared her for this.

Looking back at him was strange—he looked both the same as he had, and yet different. Being unaffected by time had made her sharp to the way it had touched others. Aldric was close to his forty-first birthday now. He had changed, aged.

The way they watched each other now reminded her of the day they had met in Falkreath; the way he had startled her, the way she'd been angry with herself for not seeing him standing so close, how she'd been ready to turn that anger on him. And then she looked over and saw his face.

Time had not changed anything about that. Just looking at him made her heart feel like it was tripping over itself in a hurry to move faster. His hair was longer, messier. She could spot the glint of silver here and there through the stubble shadowing his jaw. A new line or two creased his face, and the set of his mouth—lips that had always seemed tilted up in a half-smile—was hard now.

A new scar stretched over the curve of the left side of his face, almost to his chin. It had healed well, but it hadn't been the work of a blade and it was far too close to his eye for her liking. She wondered where it had come from.

For once, her wolf was quiet. She waited silently in the background, patient, but Rory could sense it wouldn't be for long. The need to move closer to him, to touch him and smell him, was strong and it unnerved her. She wasn't sure of what would happen if she were to catch his scent.

The dragon overhead shattered her reverie. It screamed again, and this time fire spewed from its maw, so hot she could feel the heat from the other side of the city square.

When she shouted at him, Aldric jerked as if she'd slapped him across the face. Like being pulled out of a dream, he looked around him in confusion and very slowly began to walk backward.

Yousef and Ulrich cleared the corner, both holding their knapsacks. "Aldric!" the thief yelled. "We're ready to do whatever you need!"

He blinked hard. "I need you to go for the lift near Mzinchaleft. You cannot fight it."

Ulrich glanced up at the dragon. "Normally I might protest, but I think today I agree with you."

"Twigs, take Tinúviel and go with them," Aldric commanded the tall Nord at his side.

The man shook his head. "No," he argued. "I'm not leaving everyone behind!"

A screech of pain from the dragon interrupted them. An arrow had struck it directly in the belly as it swooped close above them. The slim Bosmer woman from the other team reached for another arrow on her back.

She had barely nocked it when the dragon wheeled around sharply in the air and dove for them. One moment, the archer was there, bow in hand, and the next she was gone. Rory had a split second to glimpse her white-blond braid flapping from its jaws as it heaved to gain altitude again.

The tiny Dunmer in front of Aldric screamed as the other woman was plucked from the ground. That seemed to finally jerk him to wakefulness, and he seized her by the upper arm.

"Get out of here!" he roared, shoving her toward where the Gatehouse lay. "_Now_, Tinúviel!"

Terror plain on her face, she stumbled when he let her go. "Twigs, come with me!"

The man pulled the bow from his back. It was crafted of simple wood and steel, made for hunting deer. "I'm staying!"

The elf hesitated, clearly torn, and then she turned and ran in the same direction Yousef and Ulrich had gone. Rory couldn't blame her.

Aldric turned to her. "I can't Shout again, and I need to get it on the ground!"

She could see that he had only his sword strapped to his back. "I understand," she answered, her voice hoarse, and tightened her grip on her own bow.

He turned to Brynjolf. "Go with her, there." He pointed above them to the round platforms jutting from the slope of the cavern's ceiling.

The dragon seemed almost as eager to fly as it was to fight, keeping determinedly to the air. As often as it dipped to the ground to spray fire, it pulled back up to soar through the cavern, wings carrying it in an endless circle around them.

Brynjolf didn't waste time arguing. He pushed past Aldric and nodded his head to the side. "Let's go!"

They turned and ran for the steps of the tower she'd been living in for days. Seconds before she followed Brynjolf through the doors, Rory felt a sharp jerk tug her backward, hard enough to knock her off her feet. She twisted on the ground, writhing to roll over. A boot slammed into her chest, pinning her down.

Sergius stood over her, his hair disheveled and face red with fury. He brandished his dagger. "You're not going anywhere! You're going to cover me while we make for the lift, or I will drive this through your—_aah!_"

Brynjolf's leather-clad fist connecting with Sergius' jaw was a thing of beauty. Suddenly, the Imperial was at her feet, and the thief stood in his place, shaking out his hand. "That hurt." He grinned. "And by the way, it's good to see you again, lass."

"You've gotten _mean_," Rory observed, pushing to her feet.

He pushed the doors to the tower open. "Didn't I hear something about you cutting off someone's ear not two minutes ago?"

"Fair enough."

Even from inside the lift that whisked them up to the top of the tower, they could hear the distant roars of the dragon. Rory's fingers nervously gripped her bow again and again as she struggled to be calm. Since she'd last seen Aldric, she'd fought two more dragons—but never ones that made fire. Not since the one that had destroyed the home she had shared with Lilly long ago.

The platforms were so high and so close to the rock ceiling overhead that it was sobering; and with the orb so near, intensely radiating light and energy, it was difficult to see past it to the ground.

Rory had almost lined up a shot as the dragon swept around the span of the city, aiming toward them. Her fingertips were seconds from releasing the arrow when she drew back.

Brynjolf realized what it was doing at almost the same second. "Close," he muttered, voice rising to a shout. "Too close!"

The dragon smashed into the column of stone the tower had been built into. The platform beneath their feet gave a horrifying lurch as the creature clawed and scrabbled frantically, both climbing and clinging to the column, and they threw themselves down.

Its tail lashed through the air as it began to move upward. Chunks of rock began to fall, distantly smashing into the ground below. It hugged the pillar, refusing to let go while it tried to secure a foothold.

When it had climbed up until it could go no further, it reached up with a wing and hooked its massive claw there into the ceiling of the cave. She watched it dig deep runnels in the stone, over and over, and then it dawned on her.

"It's trying to find a way out of the cave!" she yelled.

Brynjolf flinched as the platform gave another shudder. "Shoot it before it knocks this thing loose!"

Rory hauled herself up, crawling around the corner of the doorway. The dragon was incredibly close to her, ignoring everything else as its wingtips punched through the stone.

Her arrow struck it in the white part of its belly just beneath where its wing joined its body. The dragon hissed, its head whipping around to glare at her from mere feet away.

A jet of white-hot fire missed her by seconds as she darted back the way she'd come, her right leg almost slipping off the edge of the platform. The tower shook again as the dragon pushed off from it and took to the air again.

It circled back and crashed into the orb, staggering her again. Sparks flew and metal screeched as it fought to gain purchase on the cage, and the globe swung back and forth with a heavy, troubling creak.

The dragon rode the orb, watching her from only feet away. Rory lowered her bow and held it at her side, ready to turn and run for the doors to the tower if it opened its mouth or tried to follow her onto the platform.

It gave up its perch when one of the wire cables tethering the orb to the ceiling snapped with a sound like the crack of a whip, slashing into its side. Roaring in pain, it flared its wings and struggled to take off.

Rory pulled her arm back again with a new arrow, slowly breathing out all of her air as she concentrated. The dragon was large but her target was small. She had only one chance to get this right before the creature decided in earnest to go for her.

Brynjolf let out a yell of triumph when her next arrow struck it directly in the eye. The dragon screamed again, this time unleashing fire as well as rage into the air, and it half-fell, half-flew in a descent to the ground.

Now it was Aldric's turn.

* * *

Still beneath the orb, Aldric watched Khal trying to drag Raj away. The small, dark Khajiit had caught the full force of a stream of dragonfire, and had almost certainly died instantly, but his brother didn't seem to understand that.

There was no place on Raj's charred body that was safe for Khal to grasp. He tried first to pull him by the ankles, and then the forearms. The steel Raj wore was simply too hot. When the dragon slammed into the orb above them, Khal finally gave up. The last Aldric saw of him was the silvery flash of his tail in the darkness as he fled the Silent City alone.

Twigs and Kaspar both swore when rubble from overhead began to crash around them. Wind buffeted them as the dragon tried to cling to the orb, and then it abruptly let go with a deafening cry. The three of them scattered as it dropped to the ground.

Aldric almost lost his footing as it landed, tail closest to him. He had been on the receiving end of what that massive appendage could do, more than once, and began to back away from it before the dragon could figure out where he was.

The creature swung its long neck around, roaring helplessly, and Aldric spotted the black arrow that had pierced its eye. Suddenly, it lashed out with a wing. Twigs was knocked on his back. The dragon reared up, drawing back to suck in a mighty breath.

A rock bounced off its snout, and it flinched, hissing. It swung its head around to target whoever had thrown it. Another rock hit it, this time in one of the spikes that jutted from its lower jaw. Aldric was halfway to Twigs when he'd cleared the dragon's wing enough to see who it was.

Tinúviel stood in front of it defiantly, holding another stone in her hand. As he watched, she wound her arm back and hurled the third rock. It struck close to the dragon's wounded eye, and this time it pointed at Tinúviel before unleashing a spray of fire.

She threw herself to the ground in a roll directly toward the dragon. It pulled back, trying to catch her as she went. Arms thrown up over her head, Tinúviel ran straight under its wing and ended up on Aldric's other side.

He saw his opportunity and took it. The blade of his greatsword bit into the heavily muscled joint of the wing in front of him. Nearly cleaving the limb in two, he ripped it free with a grunt. He ducked as the dragon shrieked and swung its head around for revenge.

Blood, dark and thick and acrid, sprayed the ground around him. The dragon's blind right eye could not see him as it flailed, dragging the useless wing by its side as it staggered. Changing its mind, it heaved and crawled awkwardly across the square in an effort to get away from him.

Aldric leaped forward over the slick ground and seized the dragon by its shoulder, climbing up onto its back. It tossed and bucked like an enraged wild stallion, trying to throw him off as he fought to keep his footing. Raising his sword high over his head, he brought it down onto the dragon's neck with all his strength.

The blade sliced only partway through the tough scales protecting the creature's flesh before it lodged on the thick bones within. He pulled upward, trying to free the sword, and it didn't move at all. The blade was stuck.

Roaring desperately in pain, the dragon jerked its head back and forth. Violent tremors shocked up the length of the blade, threatening to shake his grip loose from the hilt, and then there was an unearthly squeal.

Aldric's greatsword snapped cleanly in half. He stared down at the ruined dragonbone weapon, part of it still in his hands. Absurdly, a snippet of a years-old memory swam up through the disbelief and adrenaline racing through his mind.

"_I've heard it said that the only thing that could damage a weapon like this is another of its kind," Eorlund said, admiring the newly forged blade._

His sword had not met another weapon like it, but it had met something of its kind. The jagged bit of blade still attached to the hilt clattered to the ground. Weaponless and out of ideas, he dropped forward to hold onto the long neck of the dragon as it writhed. He felt a strange ripple underneath him, seconds before more fire burst from the creature's mouth.

Rory's voice sounded to his left. Aldric looked up just in time to see her toss something at him. Snatching it out of the air, he ripped her ebony sword from its sheath.

The black blade plunged into the soft spot behind the dragon's right horn. It screamed again. Aldric twisted the sword viciously before pulling it out, but the beast went limp and sank to the ground.

He slid off its neck. Pain scorched through him with every breath he took, his wounded side throbbing underneath his leathers. The dragon sagged as it died, collapsing onto the ground next to him.

The soul took a long time to come to him. When it surged into him, Aldric felt something he had only experienced a few times: memories. The dragon's mind was still alive, still fighting to cling to life, as it gave him its soul, and he felt all of it.

Aldric rolled away, gasping for air as the last of the pale wisps of energy disappeared into his body. Flashes of images overwhelmed him, fought him to stay as he tried to push them out of his mind.

He could no longer remember how he had come to be captured, but the dwarves were cruel enough to make even the proudest dovah shudder. Bound by alien magic, energy that not even he could battle, dozens and hundreds and thousands of years in the black wet silent cold of the cavern had passed him by. _Dark Overlord Fire._

Aldric felt the fierce joy Vulthuryol had screamed to the air when he was finally free—and the deep ocean of rage that roiled inside of him—and finally the memories released him. Suddenly he was looking back up at the piercing glow of the orb.

The skeleton rested before him, the blade of his sword now bared to the open. It was firmly jammed between two huge vertebrae. He didn't bother trying to retrieve it. A new one could be made.

Everyone else had fled or died. Only Rory and Brynjolf and Kaspar, standing on the other side of the skeleton, and Twigs and Tinúviel next to him remained. Twigs was staring at him, his eyes wide, but it was Tinúviel that broke the silence first.

"I didn't mean what I said to you earlier!" she cried passionately, looking up at Twigs. "I don't know why I did it, and we didn't make a mistake, and I want to do it again with you, and my—" She broke off with a sob as she started to cry, lifting a singed piece of her hair from her shoulder. "My _hair_ is burned, and I'm so _mad_, but I can't… I can't…"

Twigs wrapped his arms around her and lifted her clear off her feet, and he kissed her like he'd never get another chance.

Pushing to his feet, Aldric glanced over the dragon's head. His smile slowly slipped from his face as he met Rory's eyes. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, and when she began to walk away from the group, he followed.

* * *

Pulling her mask over her head, she stayed standing far enough from him that he wouldn't be able to reach out and touch her. "Are you hurt?"

Aldric had been favoring his right side, but he shook his head. "No. Are you?"

"No."

A long moment passed. It was difficult to look at him—he watched her like a man seeing the moons for the first time. So she gazed out over the battered city, trying to calm her pulse.

He was the first one to talk. "How are you in Blackreach?"

Rory hadn't been expecting that question, and it took her a few seconds to think of something. "I needed the gold," she told him. "I've struggled." She glanced at him, quickly, and saw that he didn't believe it. "And you?"

He nodded his head behind him, over his shoulder. "Twigs found me, talked me into it. The gold was tempting, I'll admit."

Her heartbeat was getting away from her again. Just the same as when she'd seen him walking with Yousef from under her perch on the lamppost, it took every bit of her control to not go to him.

"You won't look at me," he said.

She went still.

"Rory."

Saying her name was almost too much.

"Look at me." He was forcing himself to sound strong. "I want you to tell me—I need you to tell me _why_…"

His voice broke on the last word as he trailed off, and she turned to him. "Don't," she begged him. His anger she could handle, cold hatred she could handle, but not pain like this. Not the pain she heard in his voice.

He took a step forward, and she froze at the sight of those pale blue eyes nearing her. His scent found her then, warm from his skin, and her head swam as she breathed it in.

Aldric reached for her. The look that crossed his face when she quickly moved back felt like a blade cutting her from inside.

His breath came hard as he stared at her, and then he came for her. Rory moved back again, out of his reach, and he didn't stop. She kept going until her back brushed against stone.

Both of his hands came up to rest on the wall on either side of her head, and Aldric leaned down over her. He slid a foot between both of hers. The leather of her cuirass brushed against his as she panted. Trapped. She was trapped.

He lowered his head to her.

"Don't," she whispered again.

"Why?" Aldric tilted his head.

Rory was light-headed. Being this close to him was making it impossible for her to think clearly_._ "Not here. I cannot do this here. Not now."

He pulled back enough to see her face clearly. "When?"

"Soon. I'll come to you in Falkreath."

Aldric looked into her eyes for a long moment. "Do you know what I think?"

Not trusting her voice, she shook her head.

He leaned down again suddenly over her neck. "I think you're lying to me," he murmured.

When his mouth brushed against her throat as he inhaled her scent, Rory's eyes closed. "I'm not."

And then he was gone. She felt the damp air of Blackreach rush around her again as his warmth left her. Heart pounding in her ears, she opened her eyes to find him standing well away from her.

Things were happening too quickly. He had barely even touched her, and already she could feel the bond flicker to life after years of lying dormant. "I promise that I will go to Falkreath after this."

"And what happens when you come to me?" he demanded.

"I will tell you anything you want to know."

Aldric took a small step forward, as if he couldn't make himself stay away for long. "And after that?"

In three words, he was asking so much. "I can't answer that."

He looked away, and she was struck by the same lost, faraway look that she'd seen on his face only once.

"I…" she started, and then her bravery nearly failed her. He turned his gaze to her again and she shut her eyes. "I can't do this anymore."

"You can't do what anymore?" Aldric's eyes hardened.

Tears fell from her eyes when she opened them.

_Tell him. _

He swallowed hard. "You're crying," he said hoarsely. "Why?"

"Because I still love you." She couldn't get enough air. "Because I have never stopped loving you. Because I cannot bear to be away from you any longer."

"Leave with me. Come with me to Falkreath. Please."

Rory shook her head, her hands swiping at her cheeks. "I can't. I need to go to my home first. I have things I need to do by myself. I swear I will come to you, Aldric, I swear it."

She walked around him, going fast for her pack where she'd abandoned it on the steps of the Hall. Some of her things had spilled out onto the stone floor, and her vision blurred with tears as she pushed them back in. Brynjolf, Kaspar, and the others watched her silently.

Aldric waited behind her, and she feared that he would try to pull her to him. She wanted him to touch her so badly that she was afraid of what would happen when he finally did.

Rory stopped for a moment before moving out. It was impossible to say anything, because no words could stand up to the look in his eyes. It was all she could do to hold onto her control.

Walking away from him was the hardest thing she had ever done.

* * *

"Valerio?" Kaspar asked him.

Twigs shook his head. "No, _Valerius_," he corrected. "Augustus Valerius. You can ask any of the city guard for direction to his estate once you get to Riften. I'll write him when I get home so that he'll know to expect you."

The scout nodded. "That is good. You are sure he will still honor your agreement?"

"Yes. We didn't know much about the orb, and he told me that he knew it was possible whatever secrets it held couldn't be brought back." Twigs looked up at the strange device over his head. "We can take something from the dragon. I think he would like that."

Brynjolf spoke up. "You might want to ask Aldric before you do that."

They all looked over to where he stood with the strange woman. They were pressed up against the far wall, and he couldn't tell from where he stood if things between them were unfriendly or… friendly. "Does he know her?"

Brynjolf hesitated before answering. "Yes. He knows her."

Behind the thief, Aldric suddenly buried his head in her neck, and her eyes closed. "Ah… I thought he was with Carina."

Kaspar glanced over, and then cleared his throat as he looked away. "She is like Aldric and I, Twigs. She is his wife, of sorts."

Tinúviel's mouth dropped open.

Twigs tried not to look surprised. "And she just happens to be in Blackreach with Sergius?"

"I'm willing to believe Yousef and the bard were coincidences, but with the way she operates," Brynjolf muttered, "I don't think that's an accident."

"Why would she work against him?"

"I don't think she was." The thief shrugged. "I don't think she was down here for the same reason Sergius was."

"Speaking of him." Twigs looked around with a frown. He wasn't among the bodies scattered around the pavilion. "Where is he?"

"Most likely he made it to the lift after he tried to hold us up," Brynjolf said.

Twigs blew out a sigh. "That depresses me."

"You were the first to figure it out," Tinúviel soothed, laying her head against his arm.

He drew her in against him. "Actually, Aldric did. And he…" He looked to Brynjolf, and then Kaspar. "What he did with the orb, and the dragon?" He let the question hang in the air.

Brynjolf gave him a small, sympathetic smile. "Leave that for him to bring up, lad. Trust me."

Not far behind the thief, Twigs could see Raj's twisted, half-melted body. Khal was nowhere to be found, and he wondered if he would be able to find the Khajiit in Windhelm again. He cringed when he thought of the way Lyssa had been snatched from the ground.

Tinúviel seemed to be thinking the same thing. "Should we try to look for her body?"

"I don't think so," he told her quietly. "But she told me she had a brother in Ivarstead. I'll try to find him and get some gold to him."

She nodded. "I'll see if I can find her bow anywhere around here, then. You can bring it to him."

When she turned, his eyes dropped to the dagger at her hip, and then he remembered something that had been in the back of his mind for days. "Brynjolf, do you know anything about House Indoril?"

Brynjolf looked a little suspicious. "Might be that I do. Why?"

"Tinúviel's father kept a dagger that had once belonged to that family. She told me she used to think it had something to do with her, or maybe her mother. There was a ribbon kept with it."

Looking after Tinúviel, Brynjolf seemed troubled. "House Indoril is Dunmer nobility. Karliah, a woman that belongs to the Guild, is part of that family. Indoril is her surname."

"Do you think… could they be… related? Maybe?" Twigs asked.

Brynjolf was about to answer him when he noticed the dark-haired woman coming toward them. She was tight-lipped, tear tracks staining her face, and her hands shook as she bent to the knapsack nearby.

When she was gone, Aldric rejoined them, staring after her. No one said anything for a while, until Kaspar touched his shoulder.

"She is gone again?"

Aldric didn't pull his eyes from where he was watching. "She said she'll come to me after we leave here."

Brynjolf spoke slowly and cautiously. "Did you believe her?"

"No."

"It is not too late to go after her," Kaspar suggested gently.

"I don't need to," Aldric said. "There was a key in her bag, a house key. It belongs to property found in only one city in Skyrim. I'm going after her."

"Where?"

"Markarth." Aldric turned, and the intensity in his eyes scared Twigs. "I'm going to Markarth."


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N:** Thank you so much for all your reviews for all the craziness that was the last two chapters. I'm still making the rounds of replying to all you cuties. That was the end to Part 1, and they're out of Blackreach now. Part 2 will focus on Aldric and Rory's whole narrative, as well as a few other characters and their plots.

I know you guys have been waiting a long time to see this get resolved, and I'm excited for it too. It's gonna take a little while to work through, though, so please please be patient! On the bright side, updates may come more frequently now that I don't have to focus so much on action and scenery.

* * *

**Chapter 28**

In another time, Aldric might have considered it ironic that he had never once entered Markarth in nearly six years. Hundreds of restless nights were spent wondering where Rory could be—if she was even still in Skyrim—and she was in Markarth. It was the last city Aldric would have expected her to want to live in.

She hated the Reach, with its fog, steep, stony mountains, wide-open spaces, and the constant threat of the Forsworn. Rory was not the only one to find distaste in the hold; many travelers and merchants dreaded visiting the area for those exact reasons.

Carved from rock and metal, the city was cupped by impossibly tall cliffs. Towers reached high into the sky, the remains of an aboveground dwarven city. The streets were narrow and sloped sharply no matter which way one walked.

It was also a loud and cramped place. The marketplace was filled with throngs of people, and the mine on the far side of the city never seemed to rest. Mist sprayed and water roared constantly from the falls spilling from above the Understone Keep, gathering into the river that cut through the city.

It was a very far cry from the quiet forests of Falkreath, where he knew her heart would always be. He wondered how she had come to make her home here, and why.

Not long after sundown, Aldric entered the marketplace just within the gates of the city. He gently elbowed his way through the crowd until he made his way to a modest stall across the way.

The man he was looking for, as luck would have it, was caught in a hushed conversation with his wife, Kerah, who sold her jewelry from the stand. They both looked up at him as he approached, and it took only a second or two for recognition to spread across Endon's face.

"Aldric," the Redguard said, coming around the front of the stall. "It's been quite a few years since I've seen you."

"Seven or eight," he agreed. Then he paused. Had so much time really passed?

"What brings you here?" Endon asked. "Guild business?"

"No." Aldric shook his head. "I'm looking for a woman."

The other man's brow rose. "A woman?"

Aldric interrupted him with a forced smile. "She lives here, in Markarth. She owns property."

Endon blinked at him. "All right," he began slowly. "I can't say that I'm familiar with every woman in the city, but…"

"I should say so!" Kerah cut in from behind him, voice sharp.

Endon's lips thinned into a line, and he rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm very devoted to my wife."

Kerah opened her mouth for a retort, but stopped when she saw how serious Aldric was.

Noticing it at the same time, Endon frowned a little. "If this is important, you'll want to talk to one of the local thieves. They know every face here, even the visiting travelers."

The last thing he wanted to do was involve anyone from the Guild in his business, in case it went badly. Aldric ignored Endon's offer. "You would have noticed her. A slim Nord, with long black hair and light eyes. Not very friendly."

Aldric could tell right away that the silversmith knew who he was talking about. Endon blanched and turned around to look at Kerah, who stared back at him wordlessly.

"Why do you want her?" the man asked after a moment.

Anxiety rode the air suddenly, and Aldric took a step forward. "That is not your business."

Endon blinked several times in a row, too quickly. "I know it's not," he stuttered. "It's just…"

Besides being a valuable business contact, Endon was a genial and easygoing man—getting mean with him was out of the question. There were other ways to find Rory, though staking out the city until he spotted her was an unpleasant prospect. Chances were high that she would see him first and bolt.

Looking past Endon to Kerah's pinched, nervous face, a thought struck him. "You think I mean her harm?"

The other man laughed uneasily. "I don't mean to imply you're a common thug, but a visit from the Guildmaster asking for the whereabouts of a specific woman doesn't bode well. If she's crossed you somehow, I respectfully ask that you please leave me out of it."

"I need you to trust me." He tried for a nicer tone. "She's… important to me."

Endon rubbed the back of his neck, looking down. A long moment passed as Aldric watched him fight internally with himself. "There. She lives there." The man pointed upward, over his shoulder, and then walked away.

Aldric stared at the place.

"Son of a bitch."

* * *

He climbed up the steps to the property Endon had pointed out. The stone and damp air of Markarth had ensured that any familiar scent he might have picked up was wiped away.

Aldric stopped in front of the doors to Vlindrel Hall. A barrel tucked into the balcony nearby was etched with a Shadowmark. He looked away, all of a sudden feeling unreasonably irritated at spotting it.

Their meeting in Blackreach had been unlike anything he could have anticipated. So many times he had imagined cutting her down with cold words, even yelling at her, but the bond had intervened. He had never once forgotten that the bond existed, but he had forgotten how it worked.

Now that he'd been on the surface for a few days and his head had been given time to clear, anger was slowly seeping back into his mind. Anger at feeling powerless, at feeling manipulated, at being left again. He was determined this time, now that he knew what to expect upon seeing her again.

Lifting a hand, he knocked swiftly on the door before he could change his mind. A few seconds passed, and the thought of picking the lock briefly entered his mind—and then footsteps sounded from inside. One of the doors cracked open, and a dark-haired female form leaned halfway out.

They stared at each other for an excruciatingly long moment.

Then she was moving, and he barely had time to react before she leapt at him. Aldric grunted and braced his feet as Lilly crashed into him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"You found us." He could tell she was crying even with her face buried in his chest. "You found us."

Aldric ran his hand over her hair. She was so tall now. "I found you," he whispered.

Lilly hugged him tighter, and he could feel her shaking. "I wanted to write so many times, I wanted—"

"It wasn't your fault, Lilly."

Wordlessly, she tucked her head against him more securely, and he wrapped his arms around her as she cried. "How did you get so big?" he murmured.

She pulled back to look at him, another tear spilling down her cheek even as she laughed. "I'm thirteen now. I'm growing up."

He smiled. Lilly had both changed so much since the last time he'd seen her at eight years old. Her hair was still black as a raven's wing, messy and wavy, but it was longer now, falling past her shoulders. She was much taller, almost to his shoulder, and he could see a waist even in the leather cuirass that looked oddly—

"Are you wearing Guild armor?" he blurted.

Lilly looked down, and then loosely crossed her slim arms over her waist. "No," she said shyly. "Karliah won't let me wear it until I'm older, but Bryn sends me leathers every birthday."

Aldric fought the urge to frown. Brynjolf certainly hadn't mentioned that bit of information. "They suit you."

"Thank you. You're not angry, are you?" Suddenly, her coppery eyes were shadowed with uncertainty. "They said that when you found out…"

He hated the way that her voice trailed off like that, like she was afraid of him. "No, Lilly. I'm not angry. When I found out, I felt that…" He wasn't sure of how to put it. "I felt that Brynjolf and Karliah had gone behind my back."

"I never knew that they hid it from you," she told him.

"What did you think?"

She looked down. "Karliah told me that you wanted to be alone. I knew you were hurting, the same way Rory was. She said that's how the bond works."

Aldric bunched his fists. Hearing the pain in Lilly's voice tested his ability to suppress his anger. "It would appear that way."

"Did… did you get my letter?"

"You wrote me a letter?" He'd always been a little careless with his mail, annoyed with the never-ending requests seeking the man he wanted to let fade away, but he wouldn't have missed something from Lilly.

She was timid. "It would have arrived only a few days ago."

That explained it. "I haven't been home for a while, Lilly."

"Oh." Her fingers folded together nervously. "Where were you?"

Aldric gave her a half-smile. "I'll tell you about it someday, but not right now. I need to see Rory. Is she here?"

Lilly opened her mouth to answer, and then a noise from behind her interrupted her. She turned around, making for the door just as it began to open wider.

"No, _no_—" she scolded under her breath, reaching out.

She wasn't fast enough.

Pushing past her onto the balcony, a small boy marched up to Aldric. Fluffy blond hair swept messily over his head, and he frowned up with pale blue eyes. No older than three or four years, the ferocious scowl on his face directly contrasted with his soft, round cheeks. The little boy brandished a wooden sword, pointing the toy directly at Aldric's navel.

"Who are you, and how do you know my mama's name?" he demanded.

* * *

Lilly had led him up into the entrance hall, through the home, until he was in what served as the dining room. Aldric sat at the heavy stone table with only the warmth of the fire in the hearth for company.

Though he'd never been there before, the unique building signature of the Dwemer made the house oddly familiar to him. The ornate stone carvings and heavy, utilitarian chandeliers were like every ruined city he'd visited.

Unlike the ruins, however, there were many touches of modern, more comfortable furniture. A set of tall wooden shelves, holding a pitifully sparse collection of books, stood in the corner, and thick, hardy rugs covered much of the stone floor. It was very quiet.

Aldric continued to look around him, observing the home like a polite guest that might make remarks on an interesting part of the architecture or an amusing decoration. It was the only way he could force himself to remain calm.

Lilly had long since abandoned him, and he didn't blame her. She could likely smell his anger and wanted nothing to do with what might happen when Rory finally arrived.

The little boy, on the other hand, was not so easily deterred. He'd been shooed into his bedroom, but his door had creaked open not long after Lilly left. For the better part of an hour, he'd been stealing surreptitious peeks around the corner at Aldric.

Every time he looked over and caught the boy watching him, he quickly pulled back into his room. So far, the only thing he'd seen of him since meeting him outside was one fiercely glaring little eye and a thatch of pale blond hair.

Down the hall, the front doors finally opened. Aldric pushed back the chair and stood at the same time the little boy's bedroom door quickly closed. Rory made her way through the house until she reached him, and the careful look on her face told him that she knew he'd been there.

A man drew up close behind Rory, too close to be an acquaintance, and sized Aldric up over her shoulder. Tall and heavily muscled, he wore heavy steel armor and proud red war paint. He was handsome, with long hair the color of ripened wheat, and his scent matched the one that quietly filled the house.

Aldric snarled.

Rory had the other man backed down the hall and away from him before he realized he'd started to move closer. He barely held himself in check as he listened to her hushed voice muttering. The doors closed, and she returned alone.

"He won't be back for a long time," she told him.

"Who is he?" Aldric demanded harshly.

"That was Argis."

"He lives here."

"Yes."

"He fucks you?"

Rory's eyes flashed. "Do not talk to me like that."

Aldric laughed, and she flinched. "Does it bother you that I know about the man you're sharing your life with?"

Her jaw clenched before she answered. "Argis is my housecarl. He lives here, and he works for me. I never once accused you of bedding Lydia or Rayya, and I would ask the same of you now."

That surprised him. "Housecarls are given to thanes of a hold."

"Yes, they are."

Then Aldric realized she was serious. "You. _You've_ been made Thane of the Reach," he said slowly.

"You can save your mockery," Rory snapped, uncomfortable. "I know it's odd."

It was. The notion of having to defer to any kind of authority figure wasn't something Rory had ever been raised with, living in the wilds with her family for most of her life. Even though she'd lived with a pack for only a few years, the wolf mindset was something she still believed in: rulers proved their strength and ability to lead through trial, and not through happy circumstances of birth.

"How did it happen?" he asked.

"Word got to Silver-Blood that I'd battled Forsworn on my way to the city. He offered me the house and the title in exchange for killing one of their leaders," she said tightly.

"And you accepted, just like that. Murder for hire."

She bristled. "I had no money, Aldric. I had no way to make any. I sold my skills in combat for two years before I couldn't take it anymore."

"And the housecarl?" Aldric countered. "You can turn them away. They don't have to live in your home."

"I needed him."

Fresh anger crawled through his veins. "He makes as good a bed-warmer as any, I suppose. You do like them big and fair-haired, don't you?"

She ignored that. "As much as I hate to admit it, a man needed to be in this house." Her voice was low as she closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.

"Why? We both know that you're stronger than that brute could ever hope to be," Aldric pointed out.

Rory was quiet for a moment. "What Argis has done for me has nothing to do with how strong or handsome he is. I needed him to _be_ someone he wasn't, that he could never be, and he agreed."

"Being a father." Aldric looked past her to the bedroom door. "To that little boy."

Just like in Blackreach, she wouldn't look at him. "His name is Théodyn."

"Is he mine?"

Rory went still as if she were afraid. "Yes."

Aldric hadn't realized he was sitting in the chair again until he looked up and saw Rory standing over him. She knelt on the floor and softly reached out to lay her hands on his knees. Even through the leather, her touch blazed.

Rory wouldn't ever age another day, but she still looked different. Dark circles were smudged under her yellow eyes, and her face had always been angular, but it looked sharper now, as if she hadn't been eating well. All the anger and tension had gone out from her. Now she just smelled fearful.

"You must have known the second you laid eyes on him." Her voice shook. "Aldric, please believe me, I never wanted you to learn that this way. I never—"

"You never would have told me about him," he cut in.

"That's not true."

"You never came to me." Aldric stood up, and she moved back to let him. "You needed a man in this house, a father to our child, and you chose a stranger."

Rory pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and made a low sound of frustration, giving him her back. "You don't know what it was like, you don't know how I felt. You can't imagine it, Aldric."

Sorrow and rage warred inside of him. "He's my child, too, Rory."

"Don't!" She whirled to face him, eyes wild. "Do not. I wandered through the snow for _days_ after leaving Snowpoint. Finding out I was with child not long after that was the worst day of my life. I wanted to die."

"And you didn't have to do that alone!" He stood again.

"Yes, I did!"

"Why?" he yelled. "Tell me why!"

"Because I hated you!" Rory's voice quivered as tears began to roll down her cheeks, and she reached up with shaking hands to push her heavy black hair back from her face. "And I hated myself so much more, and I had no idea what my life was supposed to be after what happened in the mountains."

"After _what happened?_" Aldric bellowed. "I—"

The bedroom door behind her burst open. Little mouth set in a hard, determined line, the little boy stomped across the room and put himself directly between Aldric and Rory.

"Stop!" he commanded furiously. Then he lurched forward and beat his tiny fists on Aldric's leg. "You get away from my mama! You don't hurt her!"

Rory and Aldric's eyes met. He could see that she felt the exact same way he did in that moment—neither of them had realized how their escalating argument would impact the small child nearby.

Rory knelt immediately, and she pulled the boy away to draw him into her arms. Aldric watched her soothe him, struck by the tender way she stroked his hair and the way her voice got so soft.

Suddenly she was a mother.

"Theo, this is my friend." Rory patted his back. "Sometimes big people argue with each other, like how Lilly sometimes gets loud with me. He wasn't hurting me."

After seeing the way both Theo and Rory were looking up at him from the floor, he lowered himself down to kneel next to them.

"Hello," he said to his son. "My name is Aldric."

Theo scowled at him.

Aldric took a deep breath and tried again. "I would never hurt your mama, Theo. She's special to me."

"My name is Théodyn," the little boy clarified right away.

Unsure of what else to say, Aldric nodded.

"All right, little man." Rory stood and steered him toward his bedroom. "It's time for you to go to sleep."

With one last dirty look in Aldric's direction, Theo turned and scampered into his room.

Aldric rose to his feet. "I'll be at the inn, then."

"No."

He stopped, seeing the uncertain look on her face. "What?"

"You can stay here." Then Rory pressed her lips together. "I want you to stay here."

Aldric shook his head. "Don't feel that you need to offer that to me only because you think it's what I want. I will be back tomorrow, and we will talk again."

For a moment, she looked like she might blush. "Very well, then. Come for breakfast in the morning."

"I will."

The cool night air of the Reach blew gently against his face once he'd closed the doors behind him. It lifted his hair, swirled it away from him. Aldric let his eyes fall shut and breathed it in deeply.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: **Sorry for the lateness! This has been a crazy week. This chapter has a trigger warning for bullying.

* * *

**Chapter 29**

"Shouldn't you be warm in your bed, little miss?"

Lilly almost didn't turn around, but she wasn't quite old enough—or brave enough—to ignore the guard. She could feel his eyes on her back even through his ridiculous-looking Stormcloak helmet.

"I just need some fresh air. The baby's been crying for hours."

The stern set of the man's shoulders suddenly relaxed. "Aye, I know that feeling well," he said sympathetically. "My wife had twins not a month ago. Take your time, but be sure to return and help your mother soon."

"Of course."

It was a lie, but she didn't feel bad. Aldric had left long ago, but the tension he'd left behind had yet to follow. It was quiet in the house, but far from peaceful, and Lilly couldn't sleep.

Even this late at night, Markarth hadn't yet settled. Besides the guards, people still roamed the streets, especially near the inn. She could hear faint music and the loud laughter of men and women as she walked past.

Lilly wasn't interested in going in there alone and dealing with drunken men, but she stopped in front of the doors anyway. If he hadn't gone to bed yet, Aldric might be inside at a table, maybe by the fire.

She pulled open the door and someone started to fall out of it. Ale sloshed and dripped onto the stone floor at her feet, and the man in front of her tried to sling a heavy arm around her neck for balance.

"Get off me," Lilly muttered, pushing him away.

He scoffed at her before turning back to his friends. Gritting her teeth, she considered turning around and walking out. It was already going terribly.

Giggling behind her drew her attention. Lilly turned to see three girls at a table in the corner, doubled over laughing at her. She knew who they were almost without looking.

One of the girls leaned back in her chair, flipping her long golden-brown hair over her shoulder. "You're so graceful," she called out.

Jannike was doing that strange thing that Lilly had never managed to master, a skill that only very mean people seemed to possess—her words and her voice and even her face appeared to be friendly, but a little niggling feeling in Lilly's gut told her it was the opposite.

Lilly didn't know the names of the two others, but they were just like Jannike. The three of them belonged to Stormcloak families and hadn't been shy about being 'true daughters of Skyrim.' That just seemed, to her, an excuse to torment anyone that seemed a little different.

Lilly flapped her hand, shaking spilled ale from it. She turned to scan the crowd for Aldric, hoping the little group would lose interest if she ignored them.

No such luck. "Aren't you a little young to be here, Lilly?" Jannike pressed, standing up.

Lilly frowned and looked over at the bar. Only a few miners, looking worn out and half-asleep over their mead, occupied the stools in front of the long wooden counter. She hated the way she felt nervous.

Jannike walked toward her, slowly, and Lilly watched her approach out of the corner of her eye. Maybe it was just the color of her hair and the lithe way she tried to walk, but she reminded her uncomfortably of a sabercat stalking prey.

"Are you deaf, or just stupid?" the other girl demanded sharply. The pretend niceties were gone.

A long time ago, after it had become clear that the girls weren't going to stop, Rory had sat her down for a talk. It was times like this that Lilly remembered the way she had cried and told Rory she didn't have to worry about fighting.

She didn't feel that way anymore.

Jannike and her friends hadn't let up on her for months now. The worst part was the way they operated—like spies, like torturing her was a secret war tactic to make her think she was losing her mind.

Their favorite game was following her. They stayed just far enough away so that Lilly couldn't ask a guard or anyone else to intervene; just far enough away so that their rude remarks about her—her body, her looks, her hair, her clothes—could be heard, but barely, like the wind might blow their words away.

One time, fed up with the way Lilly had grown reluctant to leave the house, Argis had stayed with her the entire day, certain that it would either put a stop to it or that he would see the behavior for himself.

The following had stopped, but the girls had magically appeared at whatever place Lilly ended up. Not one time had they ever even looked in her direction. But they didn't have to. That was the point. Argis hadn't understood that they had simply changed the game.

In the back of her head, Lilly could recognize that Jannike was brilliant—in a twisted way. Only sixteen years old, and she had all the nuances and subtle weaknesses of the human psyche in the palm of her hand like a gauntleted fist crushing a carrot into soup.

Why didn't she join the Stormcloaks? They could use her on the Thalmor. All of the struggle over the war suddenly seemed ridiculous. They had the answer all along: teenaged girls.

"Did you hear me, you moron?" Jannike punctuated her next barb with a poke to Lilly's shoulder. It felt like it hurt more than it should have.

Lilly finally turned her head to look down at the other girl. Like most everyone that wasn't an adult, Lilly was taller than Jannike by at least half a hand. "What do you want?"

"I want you to leave," she replied readily. "Get out. Now."

Lilly looked her up and down. Even though she'd been just about ready to leave anyway, she didn't want to now. "I don't think so."

"I said _get out_." Jannike's voice got loud enough to make some people near them turn their heads.

"And I said, 'I don't think so,'" she repeated gently. "Are _you_ deaf?"

Jannike's scarlet lips twitched, and Lilly sensed her breathing pick up. "You're not wanted in here."

"By who, you?" Lilly caught the eye of the woman behind the bar, who was watching the two of them. "You don't own this place."

"Here, sweetie." The woman motioned her over, setting a tankard down on the bar. "Come have some water and talk to me."

Grateful for the interruption, Lilly turned away and started to walk toward the bar. Jannike was faster, though, and made it there before she did. Reaching out quickly, she snatched the tankard from the counter and smoothly pivoted on her foot.

Lilly saw it coming a split second before Jannike flung the water into her face.

The miners next to her all shuffled on their stools, grumbling low, surprised words as they looked away. The woman behind the bar just shook her head, looking upset, and turned her back.

Water dripping down her face and chest, she made eye contact with a man on the other side of the bar who gave her a very clearly sympathetic look before standing up and walking away. Lilly would never understand why all the adults acted the same way every time.

Jannike stood in front of her, arms crossed under her breasts with a very smug look on her face. "You look even uglier now, like a skinny, drowned skeever."

Lilly knew that she was stronger than all three of the other girls put together. She knew that she could badly hurt one of them without really meaning to. She also knew that at some point—soon, if tonight was any indication—she might have to defend herself. Rory might be worried about it, but she wouldn't want her to be a straw practice dummy for them.

She turned around, trying to slow her breathing, and set her sights on the doors.

Jannike moved in front of her again.

Lilly drew up short, looking past her as she spoke. "I'm leaving now."

"Not just yet." Even without seeing her face clearly, Lilly could tell she was smiling widely. "You're going to buy me and Silja and Letta mead before you go. It's the price for almost ruining our night."

Lilly glanced down at Jannike's left wrist. "I'm not buying you anything," she growled, and stepped forward to leave again.

Jannike didn't move out of the way just like she thought she wouldn't. Turning her body slightly away, Lilly rammed her shoulder into the other girl's while pushing forward hard with her foot.

It was difficult to not look behind her to see the result. Lilly knew Jannike had lost her balance and hit the floor. Like an overlarge pillow against her, she'd been so easy to knock aside it was almost funny. Savoring the shocked gasps and outraged hissing as Silja and Letta scuttled over to help, Lilly left.

Stepping out onto the street outside of the inn, she looked down at her hand, smiling. Lilly had only a few seconds to admire her prize before the doors opened again behind her. Whirling, she expected a furious Jannike to be standing there, but came face-to-face with a boy.

Lilly stepped back away from him, folding her arm behind her. The boy was broad-shouldered and even taller than she was, with dark hair and matching eyes. The stubble on his face told her that he was older than her, maybe even older than Jannike.

He jauntily folded his arms over his chest. "That was good," he murmured.

Lilly narrowed her eyes at him. He was kind of smiling, and he didn't sound mean, but she couldn't tell if he was doing the thing or not. "Thanks."

"Jannike's had it coming for a while now," he said.

Trying for casual, she slicked her wet hair away from her face. "I guess."

"And I'd bet she hasn't even noticed yet that her bracelet is missing."

Lilly gave him a slow blink. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The boy's eyes dropped to her arm, which was now very obviously hiding something behind her. Lilly's ears burned. Hesitantly, she pulled her arm around to her front. A delicate gold chain, punctuated with an impressively large amethyst, dangled from her fingers.

Lilly shrugged. "Oops." Plucking the jewelry from Jannike's wrist had been almost too simple. Brynjolf would have been proud.

"'Oops?'" The boy grinned. "You're funny."

"And I'll be even funnier when you sock me in the face, right?" She tucked the bracelet into her pocket. "Are you courting one of them or something?"

"I'm most definitely not courting anyone," he told her. "And don't worry about Jannike, she'll get what's coming to her some day."

"I don't know about that, but thanks," she said.

The boy stuck out his hand. "I'm Elijah."

"Lilly. I haven't seen you around the city. Are you visiting?" she asked. His hand was impressively rough and callused.

Elijah shook his head. "I live here. Well, I did as a child, anyhow. My father sent me away a few years ago."

"Where to?"

"Windhelm."

"What'd you do there?"

The right side of his mouth dimpled deeply as he grinned again. "Very boring things."

Lilly couldn't help but smile back. "What will you do now that you're here?"

He laughed softly. "You ask a lot of questions, you know."

"I hear that a lot," she admitted. "I just like to get to know people."

"Nothing wrong with that." The door behind him opened, and Elijah stepped aside to let a few people pass him. "Listen, I have to get home now, but I wouldn't mind being interrogated by you again tomorrow."

"I suppose." Lilly tried not to sound too excited. "I can walk with you to your house, if you want."

"Markarth seems like a safe enough place," he speculated jokingly. "I don't think I need a bodyguard."

True, but she didn't much like the idea of being caught alone by Jannike's group. "You never know. Having a thief by your side can be useful."

Elijah looked her up and down, slowly, and she wondered if he was recognizing what her leathers were supposed to look like. If he did, he didn't seem to be put off by it. "Meet me in the marketplace at midday?"

"Sure. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Elijah gave her one last curious look before setting off down the street.

Lilly turned and forced herself to walk calmly to the stone stairs leading up to Vlindrel Hall, but once she got there, giddiness took over and she raced up the steps two at a time.

A friend!

* * *

It was late at night, and he should have been sound asleep, but instead Kaspar was awake.

Cross-legged and resting against the wooden bed frame, he pulled at the last bit of thread and tied it into a secure knot before clipping it with his teeth and setting the needle down on the bedside table.

He held his trousers out, looking over the tear he had just repaired. It was good work. Aela would be pleased.

Kaspar sighed and passed a hand over his face. He missed his mate.

Returning to the surface from Blackreach had been a very great relief. Being in the ice and snow once again had been even better. He did not find life in the warm plains of Whiterun disagreeable, but the cold was in his blood.

He enjoyed the entire journey back to Jorrvaskr, though he knew he was a dead man. Aela might kill him, but it would be a good death. All he wanted was to see her face again.

And she had not been there. Farkas had told him, after many requests for storytelling, that Aela had taken a job in Hjaalmarch and had been gone for days. She had not left word.

The letter he had written for her had remained where he had left it, on the dresser. It almost looked as if she had not read it, but Kaspar knew better. The creases in the paper had fallen flat, and some of the words had been smudged, as if she had touched them often.

She had not waited for him. She was angry.

The doors to the living quarters opened and closed, and footsteps made their way down the hall. Kaspar perked up; he knew who it was just by the way they walked.

Aela opened the doors to their bedroom and walked inside with her bow in her hand. She set down her pack and crossed the floor to the rack nailed to the wall, securing her weapon before leaning down to pull her boots off.

"Hello," he said warily.

Aela did not respond.

"You fared well in the marshes?"

Silence.

"I am sorry, my love," he sighed, rolling off the bed to stand. "I would have waited to speak to you, but Aldric—"

"Don't you say that name to me!" she hissed. She spun to face him, her hair in her eyes.

Kaspar blinked. "It is not his fault, Aela. He did not force me to do anything."

"I know that!"

"Then why are you angry with him?"

"I'm angry with _both_ of you." Aela pushed past him. "Can't you see why?"

"Yes, I can." Kaspar turned around to follow her. "Would you have stopped me, had you been here?"

"I would have wanted to," she admitted, her back still to him as she searched the drawers of the bedside table. "But I wouldn't expect you to try to stop _me_ to do anything for fear of danger, so I have to do the same for you."

"No, I would not have tried to stop you."

"Even if I had wanted to leave for Blackreach?" Aela turned again, her eyes searching his face. "Even there?"

"You are a strong fighter, Aela, and I cannot forbid you to do things." Kaspar approached her slowly, and she let him pull her into his arms. "I would not have gone without Aldric, and we had a large team."

"And how many of them died?"

"Three, at least. More that were not with us."

Aela pulled back in surprise. "There were others there?"

"Another team," he told her. "Hired by the same man."

"And you weren't told of them?"

Kaspar shook his head.

His mate sat down on the bed and curled to hold her pillow against her middle. "I'm still angry," she informed him, "but I want to hear the stories."


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N:** Well, I'm turning out to be a dirty little liar, aren't I? I said I'd be back much sooner with a new update and here it is, a week later. I have writer's block to blame for that one. (And while I was waiting for the dry period to pass, I opened a DeviantArt account with a couple drawings so far of Tinúviel and Twigs. The link is on my profile.)

For anyone reading that hasn't read the first book, The Curse's Bounty, this chapter might be a teeny bit confusing.

* * *

**Chapter 30**

Aldric let out a groan as soon as his eyes opened. His entire body, from his head down to his toes, was sore. Hauling himself upright, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately stopped once he felt the sharp pain in his neck.

"Goddamn city," he cursed bitterly.

Markarth was faithful to the Dwemer theme, and the Dwemer had been strangely fond of stone everything—chairs, tables, and, unfortunately, beds. The owners of the inn had clearly done what they could to make it more comfortable for their patrons, with extra blankets and pillows, but rock was rock.

Aldric hung his head and studied his feet, his hand idly rubbing at his tense muscles. The urge to drink himself into another dimension had been strong the night before, but he hadn't. Showing up at Rory's home cloaked in the morning reek of stale alcohol was the last thing he wanted.

Thinking about what the new day had for him brought the urge to life again. The prospect of facing that little boy—his son—was daunting. Aldric was both excited to see him again, and eager to avoid him. It was an odd feeling.

As if sensing his hesitance, his stomach gave a long, mutinous grumble. Shaking his head, he rose to his feet and started to dress.

* * *

The fire in the hearth had already been stoked and fed, and was roaring away as he walked out of his quarters and into the common room. Kleppr, the man he had paid for the room he'd rented the night before, was behind the wooden counter of the bar with his wife.

"You have to stop going to bed so early and leaving me out here all by myself," she snapped. "We had trouble last night."

"What?" Kleppr stopped lining up the bottles of mead on the shelf in front of him. "Why didn't you come and fetch me, Frabbi? Was it another fight?"

"Of a sort. Those nasty girls were back and they were troubling a younger one." Aldric had almost made it to the doors when Frabbi's next words stopped him. "The tall, black-haired one."

"Oh." The word was heavy with Kleppr's clear relief and indifference. "I know the one you're talking about. She brings it on herself, Frabbi, I don't see why you're so worried about her. She's not right, and those girls know it."

Something hard clacked behind Aldric, like Frabbi had slammed something down against the counter. "How dare you say something like that, Kleppr. She'd barely walked inside when the oldest one pounced on her like a starving dog does scraps."

"Maybe if she didn't dress herself in that thief garb—"

"I don't care what she dresses like, Kleppr. She's a sweet girl and she's done nothin' to deserve that kind of treatment."

Jaw tight, Aldric pushed through the doors and made his way across the marketplace to Vlindrel Hall. It wasn't hard to figure out that the two innkeepers had been talking about Lilly—and that her leathers hadn't gone unnoticed.

Though the sun was bright overhead, and it was late summer, the foggy chill of the Reach was enough to give the air outside a bite. The marketplace was already full of people, and as he made his way to the stairs, Aldric realized he'd slept a little too long.

Lilly was waiting on the front step of the house, looking excited. Still damp from a bath, her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders. When she caught sight of him, she shot to her feet and went for him with her arms open.

Stopping herself at the last second, she stumbled and almost lost her footing. Aldric steadied her with a smile. "What's this, I don't get a hug today?"

Lilly grinned and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Sorry. It almost felt like a dream last night."

He felt the same way. "Can't get rid of me now, kid. Are Rory and… Théodyn awake inside?" It felt too formal and awkward to say the boy's name that way.

"Of course," she said. "And don't worry, he makes everyone call him by his full name at first."

"It's fine." Aldric pulled one of the doors open, but Lilly leaned forward to rest against the stone wall of the balcony. "You're not eating?"

Lilly shrugged. "Not really." She turned her head to give the marketplace a quick look. "I had some bread and cheese earlier. I thought I would give you some time alone."

"That's thoughtful, Lilly," he told her. "You can come in any time, though. It's just breakfast."

Her shoulder pulled up in a half-shrug. With another distracted smile, Lilly turned again to look down at the marketplace. Aldric noticed the way her eyes never stopped moving, scanning the crowd.

The house was a bit dim compared to the strong morning sun outside, and he blinked as his eyes adjusted. Just beyond the hall, where he'd sat the night before, the dining table was empty—but it was impossible to miss Theo's voice from further inside.

Aldric smiled as he saw the two of them. It was hard not to. Rory was stirring something in a pot as Theo stood next to her, watching intently. His tiny hands gripped the edge of the stone table as he breathlessly recounted something to her about a hawk he'd spotted earlier.

Rory murmured to him at the right times during his story, sometimes chuckling at what he'd said. He was so excited—and so loud. Aldric wondered if he'd ever been as enthusiastic about _anything_ in his life as Theo was about a bird in the sky.

Both of them looked up at the same time when he walked into the room. For a split second, the two of them wore the exact same expression of surprise, and then Theo's face darkened so quickly it was almost funny.

"You," he growled.

"Hey, little man." Rory nudged him with her hip. "We talked about this."

Moving away from his spot near the food, he stepped back and marched around the other side of the table to clamber up onto a chair. He folded his hands together on top of his placemat, pointedly ignoring Aldric, and looked over at Rory.

"I will take my oatmeal now, ma'am," he told her politely.

Brows raised, she looked down at him. "Will you, now?"

Theo nodded, grabbing a spoon expectantly.

Rory placed a bowl in front of him. "It's hot."

"Oatmeal!" Aldric exclaimed. "That sounds delicious. Just what I wanted." Then he winced. Even to him he sounded awkward.

Theo did nothing except viciously stir his food.

Gently laying her hand on his back, Rory set down a bowl for him and pulled out a chair directly opposite Theo. "Did you sleep well at the inn?" she asked, sitting down next to him.

Aldric snorted. "Actually—"

"No, mama," Theo interrupted. "Argis sits there."

"I know," she told him. "Today I'm going to sit next to Aldric."

Theo frowned into his bowl.

Rory tried again. "You didn't sleep well?"

"Ah, no," Aldric replied, looking away from Theo. "Stone beds."

"I forgot the inn still keeps those."

"The inn is for travelers," Theo said around a mouthful of oats.

Aldric smiled at him. "It is. You're smart."

The boy studied his utensil. "When are you going to travel back to your own house?"

Rory set down her cup. "Theo."

"I don't know," Aldric admitted. "It might be a while. I'd better get used to those stone beds, huh?"

More silence.

He had expected to feel more confident around Theo while being uncertain and stiff around Rory, but the opposite was starting to be true. Aldric pushed his food around his bowl, occasionally looking up to glance at Theo, who was inhaling his own breakfast.

Despite wanting to reach out to him, Aldric had no idea what to do or say. What did little boys Theo's age like? He struggled to remember being small. Muddled memories of etching maps into the dirt outside with a stick and chasing wild rabbits were all that he could come up with.

Instead, Aldric studied Theo. It wasn't hard to see that the boy looked exactly like him. His eyes were the same blue, his hair the same blond. Aldric was beginning to think that he'd inherited nothing at all from Rory when Theo lifted his head to catch him looking and flashed him a very familiar scowl.

Ducking his head over his bowl, Aldric ate a few bites of oatmeal. In his forty years of life, he'd learned a lot of things—and interacting with small, unfriendly children was not one of them. He suddenly felt very aware of every small sound as the quiet in the room stretched on.

Theo finished his breakfast and reached over to grab a wooden figurine of a horse from the end of the table. Setting it upright and talking under his breath, he picked up his spoon again and began to mime feeding the toy.

"Theo, why don't you tell Aldric about your horse?" Rory suggested.

Aldric tried to imitate the friendly tone of her voice. "I'd like to hear about him."

"She's a _girl_," Theo corrected him sourly, still not looking at him, "and her name is Kai, and you're not allowed to play with her."

Rory gave him a hard blink, and he made a little face at her before turning back to his toy.

"That's okay," Aldric replied easily. "Have you seen a real horse before?"

Theo gave him a long look.

"Horses are his favorite animals," Rory supplied quickly.

"Oh." They'd been Aldric's favorite as a child, too, until he'd been kicked. "Horses are… interesting."

Theo abruptly pushed back away from the table, grabbing his toy. "I'm gonna play with Lilly."

They both watched him run off down the hall. Faintly, they could hear Lilly greet him, and then the doors closed.

Rory turned to Aldric, embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

Aldric shoved his half-eaten breakfast away. He hated oatmeal. "I have no idea how to act around him. I'm trying, I swear I am."

She stood and began to gather their bowls and cups. "He's making it hard on you. You did nothing wrong."

"Lilly implied that he's like this with everyone at first," he remembered. "Is that true?"

Rory looked as if she were concentrating very hard on stacking the dishes and depositing them into a basin behind her. "He acts this way with men."

"Just men."

"That's right."

"Is he this way with Argis?"

Her mouth tightened a fraction. "Argis has known him for almost two years."

"Fair enough, I suppose." Aldric didn't like thinking about the housecarl. "You said you needed a man in the house to be his father. That doesn't seem to have worked very well."

Rory turned and pulled out Theo's chair. "I never said Argis was a father for him." Then she hesitated. "Theo is… spirited. And very smart for his age. He started to ask about his father almost as soon as he was able to speak; with the war and how many children are missing parents, I didn't expect that." She looked away. "I think he could sense something was wrong with me whenever he asked. And Lilly and I are both women, so when Argis was granted to me, I was hopeful that his presence would help."

He folded over the corner of his placemat. "What did you tell him when he asked?"

"I told him that his father was away for now, but one day he'd be back." Rory opened her mouth, and then closed it, shaking her head again as she looked away.

Perhaps the only thing Aldric knew for certain about children was that the younger they were, the more they believed in absolutes. Promises meant nothing. Though he was still so small, Theo must have believed that his father was never coming back.

He understood, then, something that Rory didn't. She'd grown up with both parents, whether she liked them or not. Aldric had been raised by only his mother. Theo's feeling that his father had abandoned him, didn't love him—that was something he knew a little about.

Aldric was careful to keep accusation from his voice. "Help me understand, Rory. When we met in Blackreach, you said you loved me. That you'd never stopped. Yesterday you told me that you hated me. Now you tell me that you told Theo I would be back someday, but you never came for me."

"I tried."

"Did you?"

"Two months after Theo was born," she started quietly, "he screamed constantly, day and night. I hadn't slept in what felt like weeks. I needed help, and I made it as close as Rorikstead before turning back. I couldn't make myself come to you. But I tried." She took a shaky breath. "And a year after Snowpoint, you were at Fort Dawnguard again."

"I need to know what happened, Rory."

Again, she stood and walked around the table. "I need a little while to think about this before we talk."

"You've had six years to think about this."

Rory stopped and turned away from him. "Just give me a moment, please."

Before he could say anything, she walked into her bedroom and closed the door.

* * *

Rory crossed the floor to the washbasin in the corner and leaned over it. For a long moment her throat burned, and her stomach clenched painfully, but nothing came up.

"_She doesn't cry at all," she said, looking up from the bundle in her arms. She stroked a hand over the dark fuzz covering the baby's small head. It was the softest thing she had ever felt in her life. "Aren't they supposed to cry? Is something wrong?"_

"_All infants are vastly different, Aurora, just as adults are." The gentle smile Lukas often gave her came mostly from his eyes. "Perhaps she feels safe with you." _

_Rory ran a fingertip over the baby's tiny mouth. She swallowed hard over the lump in her throat. "I don't know how she can feel safe with me. I have no idea what I'm doing." _

_Her father was quiet for a long moment, and then he rested his hand on her shoulder. "You have done everything right, Aurora. I couldn't ask for more. I know that your mother would be proud of you."_

_The baby gave a happy burble. It was such a pure, innocent sound. Rory sucked in a breath and began to cry. _

_Lukas' other hand covered Lilly's downy head. "My daughters," he whispered. He bent and kissed Rory's temple. "My precious daughters." _

At the sudden, unbidden memory, she squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart was beating so quickly that she felt light-headed.

"Rory?"

She looked over her shoulder to see Aldric at the door, standing half-in and half-out of the room. He looked confused. "What?"

He raised a hand to his head, combing his hair back from his face with his fingers. "I don't know how to say it. It felt as if something was wrong."

Rory turned around again and stared into the water. Her reflection wavered and danced across the surface. Aldric was both right and wrong; she'd had six years, but she'd spent all of them trying her best to think about anything but what he was asking her to think of now.

Not caring if it was proper or not, she climbed onto her bed and drew her legs up underneath her. It still felt as if she couldn't breathe. Aldric watched her get comfortable, his handsome face a mask of uncertainty.

"You can sit here with me or take the chair." Rory nodded to the corner, where her small desk was stationed.

Aldric took a jerky step toward the chair, and then stopped. He turned his head to look at her, and after a few seconds of thinking, he sat down on the foot of the bed.

He leaned forward to cross his legs in front of him, and the sway of his hair carried his scent to her. It was strong, warm from his neck. All at once she felt the nearness of him, the way the bed creaked under his weight as he shifted. Her heartbeat stuttered.

Aldric watched her silently.

"Do you remember what happened at Snowpoint?" Rory asked him. "That final night?"

"I'm not likely to ever forget that, Rory," he said slowly. "For a year after you left me, all I did was think about what happened that night. I went over everything in my head, every single thing."

A very small part of her was still angry, still wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and scream until her voice gave out. "Everything?"

Aldric closed his eyes like he was tired. "Yes, Rory."

Her next question was not something she wanted to ask him; it felt petty and patronizing. But she needed to know. "What reason did you come up with for why I left you with the pack?"

The flicker of his eyes told her he felt the way she assumed he would. "Kyrr gave me the letter you left for him, telling him what happened with Seraph. We found his body in the tunnel, his heart ripped from his chest." With a sigh, he scrubbed his hands over his face. "Your letter said that Seraph's father knew yours. You must have found out the truth of it all before killing him. Whatever you learned, it must have been… I don't know, Rory. I don't know."

"I was screaming at you to stop." Rory's stomach roiled again. "You remember?"

"I do. And I remember you trying to tear the gate down with your bare hands. I knew you wanted to protect me, and I'm sorry I ignored you, but Farkas and I could have died," Aldric said. "We might have, if Vilkas hadn't appeared seconds after that creature wounded his brother."

"_Protect you_," Rory breathed. Acid surged up her throat at the same time her vision blurred. Heavy tears began to roll over her lashes and drop onto her legs, one after the other. "It wasn't you I wanted to save."

Aldric started to say something, and then stopped. "What?"

"I knew in my heart—I _knew_—that you didn't know what you'd done." Rory stared at him, her pulse on her tongue. "I told myself a thousand times that you didn't know, that you couldn't have known."

"Rory." Aldric placed his hands over both her knees and moved to keep her gaze when she turned away. "What are you talking about? What did I do?"

"In the tunnel that night, when I was trapped behind the gate." Rory forced the words out. "You fought and killed my father."

Aldric went very still.

Rory continued. "I could have brought him back. I could have had my father back."

His hands tightened on her knees. "That… person." He ducked his head and tried to look into her eyes again. "That was your father? You told me he was dead."

"I thought he was dead, but he wasn't." At her very last word, her voice hitched.

"How did it happen?"

"A man named Dimitri grew up at Snowpoint with my mother. He was the only one that still cared about her after she was banished, when she left with my father. He sought out my father when he had a hybrid child of his own: Seraph."

Aldric's face looked carved from stone. "Seraph was like you?"

"No, not quite like me. His mother was a vampire. He couldn't shift to a wolf. Everyone—even Kyrr—thought he was a werewolf. No one suspected. He smelled like them, and he wasn't ever expected to shift because he filled the role of the mother."

"I don't remember that from your letter."

"I didn't feel that Kyrr needed to know that," she told him. With everything else that had happened, the pack's alpha hadn't needed to know the part her own history played.

Aldric let that go. "How did your father get there?"

Rory wondered if his hands on her legs could feel the way she was trembling. "After my mother died birthing Lilly, he tried to tell them that he was taking us somewhere, that he wanted nothing more to do with them. Dimitri attacked, but my father killed him. And Seraph must have overpowered him, and…" Nausea gripped her violently, and she swallowed. "And he kept him in that little room for eight years. He tortured him and starved him until he…"

"He became that creature." Aldric looked away. "I didn't know that was possible."

"My father told me about it only once. He said that…" Rory stopped, fighting the lump in her throat. "It was used as a punishment. If a vampire is powerful enough, they can't be killed that way."

"What happens to them?" he asked quietly. "Their minds, I mean. Was anything left of him when he was trying to kill us?"

"I don't know." She remembered the way he had looked into her eyes when he heard her voice. "I wanted to believe there was."

They were both silent for a long time. Rory wondered if Aldric was right there with her then, back in the tunnel on that dark night.

Aldric spoke first. "I can't change what I did, and I have no idea what either of us could have done differently to stop what happened." He took her hands in his. She tried to pull away, and he wouldn't let her. "But… I am sorry, Rory. I am sorry for how it happened."

Her breathing quickened to gasps as she fought for control over the grief that was threatening to break free.

He kissed her fingers.

"I forgave you years ago," she whispered.

Aldric's eyes were anguished as he lifted her hand and cupped it against the side of his face. Slowly, he nuzzled against her palm. "I'm so sorry, Rory."

She started to cry in earnest, hating how weak she sounded to her own ears. Years of being strong, and it had all crumbled the second he touched her.

"I forgave you," she told him. "And I need you to do the same for me."

Aldric closed his eyes, his lips moving against her wrist. "Don't, Rory."

"I need you to forgive me. Please."

"I'm not sure that I have to," he argued gently. "I would challenge anyone to stand before me and tell me how you _should_ have reacted to the death of your father at my hands. There isn't a clear path when it comes to pain and loss like that."

"I didn't know what to do."

"I think I understand that now."

"No, you don't," she countered. Suddenly, she felt the desperate need to tell him everything, no matter how dark and twisted it all was. "It was _sick_, Aldric, what they did. Dimitri, Seraph, Marcus… even my father. Dimitri experimented on his own children. Seraph said that they used his bite on many people to find out what it did. One of his brothers died after shifting uncontrollably between both forms for hours."

Aldric looked troubled. "Both forms?"

"That's what a hybrid's bite can do to another hybrid." Rory suppressed a snarl. "It… Seraph said, 'It brings their second side to the light.' It's what he wanted from me, my bite. He wanted me to give him his wolf. And he wanted to give me both forms as well."

"He didn't bite you, did he?"

"No. I killed him before he could." Again, she pulled her hands away, and this time he let her go. She immediately missed his warmth. "All this death and horror… it was _my_ existence—_my_ blood—that made it possible. I had a price on my head the moment I was born. I never wanted you to know, Aldric, any of it."

"We can't control the way we were born, Rory," he said slowly. "This wasn't your fault."

She shook her head. "After everything that happened, and what I just told you, how can you not hate me the way I hate myself?"

Aldric's eyes were piercing and almost colorless in the low lighting. "Because I don't care about how or why it happened, Rory. I have a son with you, and I want to be whatever you will allow me to be." This close, she could hear his heart begin to work faster. "Your mate. Your husband."

"Don't you ever wonder if we would have bonded at all if we had waited?" she asked. "It happened so quickly, Aldric. Things were dangerous and uncertain."

"No. I don't." His gaze was still intense. "Do you?"

Sometimes she did wonder what would have happened if they hadn't bonded to each other—if they had waited until it was all over. Rory considered what that would have meant.

She would have killed Seraph and watched Aldric kill her father. She would have left that night, without a baby growing inside of her, head filled with the knowledge of a hundred terrible, evil things. Lilly would have been safe with Brynjolf and Karliah in the Cistern.

Somehow, Rory knew that she would have given up her life in the mountains of Winterhold.

"No," she answered finally. When Aldric looked satisfied with that, she looked away. "You know what you wanted to know. What happens now?"

"We start over."

"Just like that."

Aldric took her hand again, and instead of making her feel anxious, it calmed her. "It won't be the same as it was for a long time, I think. But I want this. I want you. I want a family. I'm not going anywhere."

Rory had forgotten about the way Aldric's words could sometimes affect her. It felt as if he were finding something very deep inside of her, something so broken that it hurt to touch.

Aldric leaned over and softly pressed his mouth to her cheek. He lingered against her for a long moment, and when he pulled away, he licked the salt of her tears from his lips. His thumb stroked across the spot he had kissed.

Even after a hundred and seventeen years of living, Rory didn't think it would be possible to ever find another man like him.

* * *

_Edit A/N: In response to some reviews/PMs, I'd like to assure you that no, this is not the last conversation they will be having about the past, and no, this does not mean that things are going to be hunky-dory perfect from now on - though things are looking up. _


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N:** Tentatively off of hiatus, finally! Thank you so much for patiently waiting, you guys. I know it's a weird time to post, this late on a weekday, but I was too excited to wait.

Two notes. 1) Twigs and Tinuviel will be the focus of the next chapter - I definitely haven't forgotten them! 2) Some other writers have notified me that they think the site's email dustup is still a problem for some readers. (A glitch was causing notification emails to go to the spam folder for some hosts like Gmail.) Make sure to check yours and see that you don't have the same problem! Adding the site's address to your contacts supposedly fixes any problems. If you know any other readers, let them know too!

Without further ado...

* * *

Lilly pushed open the door to her bedroom and made straight for the low dresser across. She rifled through it, muttering under her breath worriedly. It was almost noon, the time she was supposed to meet Elijah, and she'd forgotten about Jannike's bracelet.

Her fingers brushed against the chain and she pulled it out, holding it up to the lantern on top of the dresser. Rubbing her thumb over the jewel, she could admit that it was pretty enough to make her sore about returning it. Jannike didn't deserve something so nice.

Brynjolf had told her once that most every thief had a love for beautiful things like gems and jewelry. It was what made everyone in the Guild so good at what they did; no job was too hard or too complicated when you just _wanted_ the prize. For a little while, it could be yours.

Lilly gazed at the flawlessly cut amethyst for a second more before stuffing it into her pocket. "One day I can have my own."

"Your own what?"

She jumped and turned to see Theo, sitting on her bed with his wooden horse. "Hey, you know you're not supposed to be sneaky—or in people's bedrooms when they're not with you," she said, pulling her pillow out from under his tiny bottom.

"He's out there," he told her solemnly.

"Who?" Lilly turned and leaned to look out her open door. Aldric was sitting near the fire in only his trousers. She could see that he was bent over his cuirass in his lap, fingers plucking at something. "Aldric?"

Theo nodded. "He has big muscles," he whispered.

Lilly grinned. "Yep."

"How did they get that big?"

"I don't know. Hard work. Why don't you ask him?"

Theo's wide-eyed admiration abruptly folded into a frown. "No."

"Suit yourself. Let's leave my room now," she suggested, trying to herd him out.

"No."

"Theo." She moved closer.

He clutched Kai harder. "He's out there!"

"So?" Lilly lunged forward and grabbed him, lifting him off the bed. "He's not going to kill you!"

He kicked and struggled, and she carried him out sideways like he was a piece of lumber. As soon as Aldric looked up at them, Theo went still and allowed Lilly to lower him to the floor. Nose in the air, he stiffly crossed the room to his own quarters.

Aldric watched him go without saying anything and turned to Lilly with a wordless question.

She shrugged in answer. "Something wrong with your cuirass?"

"Just a buckle." Aldric flicked at it. "Going somewhere?"

"Down to the marketplace." Mentioning Elijah didn't seem important.

"Now? It's midday," he noted. "Peak hour. It'll be very crowded."

"I know." She caught her hand just before it went to pat her pocket. "Bye."

"Lilly, wait. I want to talk to you about something."

Opening the doors, she pretended she didn't hear him and slipped out, hurrying down the stairs. Aldric didn't give up, though, and she heard him come out onto the steps behind her.

"Lilly!"

"What?" She turned to face him, halfway down the second set of steps that would take her to the ground.

Nervously, she wondered if he somehow knew about Elijah and was going to tell her she wasn't allowed to see him. Rory had never had a problem with her being out on her own—as long as she stayed in the city—or spending time with other kids her age.

_But Elijah's not a kid your age,_ a voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Aldric stood at the top of the stairs, looking confused. He was still dressed in only his tight leather pants, bare-chested and barefoot, and Lilly flushed, ducking her head. She hoped no one else would see him standing outside like that. His upper body, muscular and criss-crossed with scars, seemed to wink in the sun like a septim catching the light. She wanted to push him into the shade.

There was a scratchy sound as he rubbed at his jaw. "Do you have a moment?"

"I guess," she mumbled to her boots.

"What did you learn during your time with the Guild?" he asked.

Blinking in surprise, she glanced up at him. "All kinds of things."

"Like what?"

"Um… Karliah taught me how to pick locks. Brynjolf showed me things about stealth." She shrugged. "I was only there for two summers."

"And Vipir?" Aldric pressed.

Suddenly, thinking about the thief and his specialty, it seemed like the bracelet in her pocket weighed a hundred pounds. "What about him?"

He stared at her.

"All right, fine. I spent some time with him, too," she admitted. "Did I do something wrong?"

Aldric gave a long sigh and looked away. He ran his hand through his hair and took a while to answer. "No, Lilly," he finally said. "_You_ didn't do anything wrong."

"Then what's going on?"

"Listen…" Aldric paused for a second. "Doing what I do—what Bryn and Karliah do—it's different for us. All three of us, and most everyone else in the Guild, joined because it's what we knew. We grew up that way because we had to."

"I know. Everyone told me their stories."

"Then you know that not many of them had a choice," he pointed out. "You do. You don't have to do this."

"Do what?"

"Be a thief. You don't have to steal and cheat to put food in your belly, Lilly. You can do anything you want."

"I don't want to do anything else," she objected. "This is what I want to do."

"Why?"

"What?"

"You heard me," Aldric said. "Why do you want to be a thief if you don't have to be one?"

Lilly blinked. No one had ever asked her questions like that. "Until I met you, the only thing I ever wanted in life was to not be killed," she told him. "I was eight years old and all I knew of the world was what Rory read to me from books. And then we met you, and you took me to Riften and the Nightingales."

Aldric looked away again, almost guiltily. "I told you, it's different for me."

"You don't want me to join the Guild?" she asked him.

"No. I don't want you to join the Guild."

Taken aback, she stared at him for a long minute. Her eyes felt hot and her hands started to tingle—both sure signs she was going to cry if she wasn't careful. "Why?"

"I already told you. You have a choice, Lilly. You don't have to do things that require you to break the law and put bounties on your head," he said calmly. "It's not honorable."

"And you _didn't_ have a choice?"

"No." Aldric shook his head. "I didn't. I became a thief when I was seventeen and starving on the streets of Bravil. Delvin grew up in an orphanage. Brynjolf was—"

"Niruin grew up rich and bored," Lilly interrupted. "Garthar's too stupid for anything else. Thrynn just likes to beat people up. And you were the Harbinger of the Companions once. That's honorable."

Aldric's brows shot up.

"That's right. I didn't forget about that." She looked away. "They had choices, and so did you."

"Even if that's so, I don't want you roaming the marketplace at the busiest time of the day fishing around in pockets and cutting purses," he countered, changing the subject. "That's difficult even for an experienced thief. For you, that's a sure way to wind up at the end of a sword."

"_That's_ what you think I'm doing?" Lilly almost laughed. "You think I'm coming down here to pickpocket people?"

Aldric frowned. "I saw the way you were gauging the crowd this morning, Lilly."

"That's because I'm meeting a friend here."

"Right." Aldric's eyes flickered past her. "I see that."

Lilly whipped around, mortified. If Elijah had already found her, how much had he heard? She turned to find Jannike standing in front of the steps, staring up at her. She was alone for once, none of her friends in sight.

"I'll be back at the house, then," Aldric said behind her. "We can talk later."

His footsteps on the stone slowly faded before she could muster up an excuse good enough to get him to stay.

Jannike flashed her a smile. It wasn't the nasty one that Lilly had learned to be wary of, but it wasn't a real one, either. "Hello, Lilly."

"Jannike," she said with a nod.

"How are you today?"

"Uh… doing fine, I suppose. You?"

"I'm well." Jannike swept a lock of her hair over her shoulder and began to thread her slim fingers through it. "Though I'm missing my favorite bracelet."

"Oh, really?" Lilly dug into her pocket and pulled the jewelry out. "I happened to find this outside the inn last night."

A tight smile spread across Jannike's face, like her skin was too taut to move normally. "How fortunate." Ascending the few steps separating them, she reached out and took it from Lilly.

Lilly smiled. "Isn't it?"

Both of them were pretending that she hadn't pulled it straight off Jannike's wrist. Lilly had no idea what was going on, but Jannike was acting strangely enough for her to want to play along and figure it out.

"I feel bad about the way we've gotten along, Lilly," Jannike said after a moment. "I think we should be friends."

"You do?" Lilly blurted, utterly lost. This wasn't part of any of the theories she'd strung together in her head in the last minute.

"Of course," the other girl said sweetly. "We should spend some time at your home. Get to know one another."

"Um. I guess." Lilly shrugged. "If you want to."

"Will that… _man_ be there?" Jannike asked, gesturing to where Aldric had stood behind her. Her voice sounded odd.

"Oh." She chuckled awkwardly. "Aldric?"

Jannike leaned forward. "That's his name?"

"Yes. Sorry about him. I can ask him to leave the house for a bit, if you—"

"No, no," Jannike jumped in quickly, shaking her head. "You don't have to do that."

"Are you sure?"

The girl flashed another broad smile. "Of course. So, tomorrow night, then? Dinner?"

"Ah… okay. Tomorrow night. Dinner."

"Wonderful. Have a nice day, Lilly!" With a wave of her fingers, Jannike smiled again and pranced off.

Lilly stood on the last step, mouth hanging open. _What just happened?_

* * *

Aldric hadn't been wrong about the marketplace. Lilly couldn't ever remember having a reason to be down in the square during the middle of the day—if she had, she would have made a note to never do it again.

It would have been worse if she had been a normal height for a girl her age, she surmised. A head or two shorter, and she would've been trapped in the dark, sweaty press of torsos. Still, being tall wasn't much help at all.

It did her no good to try to stand her ground and fight against the surge of bodies, she quickly figured out. It helped to let them carry her along like a current. Moving straight ahead was also not an option; it was much easier to forge a path at an angle through the crowd.

Pickpocketing had never been much of an interest to her, but Aldric's mention of Vipir now brought some of his words to her mind. Suddenly, in the midst of the swarm of people, they made much more sense. _Keep your feet light. Turn to the side and use your shoulder to cut through, move faster. Cast your eyes away while your hand does its work. Do not stop moving._

Briefly, Lilly thought that she would have paid a lot of gold to watch Vipir in action. Stealing from anyone in the marketplace seemed like child's play at first thought… until she saw how fast everyone moved. Coin purses hung from nearly every belt, some of them even brushing against her, but they were there and gone in half a second.

_Vipir may have a stupid story for his stupid nickname,_ she grumbled to herself, _but maybe he deserves it. _A thief aiming to snatch valuables in this crowd would have to be fleet indeed.

Gritting her teeth as a boot planted itself squarely onto her own foot, she finally made it free of the throng and stood at the edge of the square, near the bridge. Her view wasn't nearly as good as it would've been up on the balcony of Vlindrel Hall, but she didn't want Elijah to know that she lived there, or who her sister was. Ever.

Things had been different when they lived in the cramped house not far from where she was, on the southern side of the city. Even having to share a bedroom with Theo was worth it, because no one knew who she was. No one treated her differently. No one targeted her.

Elijah found her first. "Lilly!" he called from the other side of the marketplace. His arm shot into the air to wave at her.

She beckoned for him to cross over. There was no way she was diving in there again. Elijah shuffled through the crowd slowly, and Lilly grinned as she watched him. He was big enough to simply bull his way to her, but he picked his steps carefully and frequently turned to mutter a word of apology to people he bumped into.

Shading her eyes, Lilly looked up at him once he'd made it through. He was just as tall as she remembered. His hair, dark brown with a reddish glint in the sun, was shorter than most other boys, and was combed back in an orderly fashion—different from how it had been last night. He had shaved, too.

In fact, he looked much different overall. His boots were shined, and the leather jacket and trousers he wore smelled brand-new. A bow and quiver full of arrows were even fastened to his back.

"I think you picked a poor time to meet here," she said after a few seconds.

"I think I did, too." He laughed, shaking his head. "Been here long?"

"No," she lied.

"That's good."

A long moment passed. Elijah shuffled his feet awkwardly, looking over his shoulder at the marketplace again.

"How old are you?" she asked him suddenly.

He turned to look at her in surprise. "Eighteen. How old are you?"

"Sixteen." Another lie! What was wrong with her? "Um… what should we do now? Take a walk?"

Elijah smiled. "I have a better idea."

* * *

The inside of Understone Keep was not an unfamiliar sight. Lilly had accompanied Rory several times when she visited the jarl on business matters, just to see everything there was to see—and there was a _lot_ to see.

Once she had gotten her fill of gawking at the massive, inactive Dwemer Spheres and Centurions in the palace, the museum had captured her interest. The guards only let her in because of Rory—no one else had ever been with her except for more guards. Museums, as it turned out, were much more boring than usual if you didn't have anyone to talk to.

The Keep was a fascinating mix of a stately, Dwemer-inspired palace, and a huge cave. The first part of it, until one reached the halls that led them to the Mournful Throne (a title that still made Lilly roll her eyes), was even partially destroyed.

Elijah had guided her inside and straight to the left, through the rubble to where the Altmer researcher—who had scared Lilly away the very first time she'd met him—kept his station. Walking confidently as if he weren't trespassing, he didn't spare even a glance to the guards they passed, who watched them for only a second or two before recognizing her.

_How did he know I could get him in here?_ she wondered.

Lilly jogged to catch up with him. "Where are we going?"

Elijah left the researcher behind and climbed up onto the slim stone bridge crossing the underground river that separated the other side of the Keep, where the ruins were. "Have you ever been inside Nchuand-Zel?"

"No," she said with wide eyes, "and we definitely should not go in there."

"Why not?" he asked, winking.

Lilly stopped in her tracks for a second, her mouth hanging open while her brain worked furiously to think of a reply. "You don't know what's in there!"

"That's what makes it an adventure," he shot back good-naturedly.

"Oh, so now we're adventuring?"

"What's this for if you never have to use it?" Elijah reached down and tweaked the ebony dagger that was strapped to her thigh. His fingers brushed her leg.

She recalled Rory's words about the dagger. "Even though I carry a weapon, the goal is to never have to use it."

He smirked. "Well then, we'll just have to be very careful inside the ruins." Setting off again down the pathway, he called over his shoulder, "Did you know that Nchuand-Zel used to be a Dwemer castle?"

Lilly doubted the veracity of that statement. "That's interesting."

"We don't have to explore the entire thing, though. I'm sure it's massive inside."

_And full of Falmer and automatons. _"How did you know about Nchuand-Zel?" she asked him. "That they were excavating it, I mean?" Most people in Markarth knew the ruins were inside the Keep, but not that anyone was digging into it.

"Oh," he said, like he was surprised by her question. "I, ah, overheard Calcelmo talking about it when I stopped by with a delivery last night."

"Calcelmo?"

"The elf."

That was when she knew for sure that he was lying. Calcelmo never left his station past the rubble, and guards stopped anyone that didn't belong in the Keep long before they could get to him. "Hmm."

A patrolling Stormcloak was walking down the bridge from one of the small towers flanking the ruins. Lilly quickly realized that they had mere seconds to act before she saw them. Grabbing Elijah's hand, she sped forward and up the steep steps to the entrance of the ruins at the same time the guard turned and began to walk away toward the Hall of the Dead.

"That was close," she whispered. Then she realized that although she had loosened her grip, Elijah was still holding her hand.

He let go at the same time she started to pull away. Leaning on the door, he pushed a few times and then turned to her. "Damn. It's locked."

The little flicker of relief that went through her made her feel like a child. "Well, we tried. We can go back and look at the museum they have, it's—"

"Wait," he interrupted, looking over her shoulder. "Calcelmo has a key."

Lilly followed his gaze. Even from where they stood across the river, she could see that the man was muttering darkly to himself while scribbling in a journal. "Ah, I don't think we'll get that from him."

Elijah opened his mouth to respond, and just then Calcelmo stood up and hurled a book at an unfortunate guard that had tried to engage him. His shouts echoed throughout the cavern. "Maybe you're right."

Looking up at his discouraged face, Lilly let out a long sigh. There was no way he would want to see her again if she dragged him to that dull, quiet museum with her. "All right, listen up: if you swear to me that we won't go very far into the ruins, I can get us through the doors."

His brows shot up. "You can get the key?"

"Don't change the subject."

"I swear." He leaned against the stone wall and crossed his arms, smiling lazily. "You know, I kind of like it when you get bossy."

Lilly rolled her eyes, flipping open the little satchel on her hip. "Don't tell anyone I did this."

Elijah watched intently as she knelt on the stone floor. Luckily, the faint smell of metal shavings told her the lock had been installed recently; Karliah had informed her of how difficult the ancient Dwemer locks could be to crack. She had learned a lot, but not _that_ much.

After the wrench was in, she carefully inserted one of the delicate picks and began to work the lock. With a minor adjustment or two, it clicked open. She stood up and brushed off her pant legs, pleased with herself, and pushed open the door. In on the first try!

"So it's true," Elijah murmured.

Lilly turned to look at him. His tone had changed. "What's true?"

"You're a thief."

"No, I'm not." She blinked at him, wondering if he would remember the way she joked about being a thief the night before—and why she suddenly didn't want him to think she was one.

"You stole Jannike's bracelet," he pointed out evenly. "You just picked that lock with ease."

"I gave that bracelet _back_," she retorted. "And knowing how to pick a lock is a useful skill that anyone could have."

"The only people that need to know how to pick locks are ones that don't own the keys to them." Elijah walked past her, into the ruins.

"Like the two of us?" Lilly didn't move, ready to turn on her heel and leave the keep.

He looked over his shoulder at her, and his dimple appeared again as he gave her a roguish smile. "Are you coming or not?"

Narrowing her eyes, she let the door close quietly behind her. "I don't understand you."

"_Me?_" His scoffing laugh, too loud, echoed through the chambers ahead of them. "_You're_ the mystery!"

Lilly could not think of a single person less mysterious than she was, including Theo. "Oh, shut up."

"Make me."

The teasing cast to his voice had faltered, and she darted a quick look at him. He gazed back at her, his face serious with not a trace of a smile. Something had changed in the last couple of seconds, but Lilly couldn't figure out what it was, exactly.

She swept an arm out ahead of her. "Um… lead the way, then."

Elijah stepped forward into the ruins obligingly. Most of it had been devastated beyond all hope, Lilly thought—rubble and collapsed columns and crushed stone were everywhere. It looked like someone had purposely destroyed it instead of time simply wearing it down.

She had to admire the workers that had been chipping away at it all, though. Couldn't have been easy. Wooden carts were everywhere, filled with salvaged pieces of metal and an artifact or two. Then a thought occurred to her.

"What about the workers?" Even her hushed whisper seemed to echo.

"Nobody's here," Elijah answered at a normal volume. "Calcelmo said the excavation was halted for some reason. I didn't find out what it was, but no. No one's here."

Lilly didn't have a good feeling about that, but she continued to follow him through the deathly still ruins. Light from flickering, half-functioning Dwemer lamps illuminated the chambers they walked through, taking the color out of everything. They passed the stone rooms into a natural cavern, wooden scaffolding pressed into the dirt walls all around them.

Both of them were silent as they creaked their way down the steps to the bottom. It was strange to see all the abandoned pickaxes, shovels, and other tools lying on the ground in messy, disorganized clutter. Shouldn't they have been put away neatly somewhere? Who just threw their gear on the ground like that?

_People running away from something,_ her inner voice supported helpfully.

A faint wisp of sound that was somewhere between breathing and hissing found its way to her ears, and she flung an arm across Elijah's chest to stop him.

"What is it?"

Ahead of them, waiting in the shadows of the cramped tunnel of a hallway that would take them to the next chamber, was a form low to the ground. It stirred a little as she squinted at it. "I think there's something in there." Elijah took a fast step backward, and the creature in the dark moved in response, as if excited. Lilly's hand tightened around the handle of her dagger, her heart thudding in her chest. "Don't do that again."

Very slowly, Elijah reached behind him to grab the bow on his back. He drew and nocked an arrow, the string creaking noisily.

"Wait," she muttered. "We don't know what it is."

Elijah wasted a moment to turn and give her a slow, incredulous look. "It's not a lost dog, Lilly."

She pursed her lips. "Fine. Shoot it."

"Get behind me in case I miss."

The creature let out a loud, unmistakable hiss.

"Don't miss," she whispered.

He loosed the arrow, and it thudded home in the dark shape ahead of them with a disgusting squishing sound. A very long, tense moment passed while they both stared at it.

"It must be dead." _Unless it's pretending._ She crept forward hesitantly. "I don't know if there's a torch around here, maybe we can—"

A brilliant, blue-white ball of light soared past her and floated to a stop at the wall of the tunnel. Lilly started in surprise, and Elijah lowered his hand, his face unreadable. "Magelight."

"Where did you learn that?"

He shrugged and walked past her, bow still in hand. "It was a spider," he commented.

She edged around to look down, noting that he hadn't answered her about the spell. A spider, indeed. Large enough to make her feel threatened, it was crumpled on the ground at Elijah's feet. He didn't bother to pull the arrow from its midsection. "Good shot."

"Thanks." He looked ahead of them uneasily. "Think there are more?"

"Well, yes." Lilly glanced at him. "Where there's one, there's always more. Why, want to turn back?"

She realized immediately that he had taken her offer as a challenge when his eyes hardened and he stood straighter. "No. Definitely not. Let's go."

There were two more spiders, just like she'd thought, and Elijah killed both of them with only two more arrows. He wasn't a bad aim with his bow, but he was slow and had bad form—two thoughts Lilly kept securely inside her own head.

The tunnel finally opened up into another natural chamber. Lilly noticed right away that it was filled with a horrible scent, and she covered her nose. "Do you smell that?"

Elijah inhaled deeply. "Not sure."

"It's coming from over there." She nodded across the room. "There's something on that ledge."

They were halfway across the chamber when Lilly's boot struck something that clanked and rolled away from her. Her eyes widened when she saw what it was. "Elijah?"

"Hmm?" he murmured, still making his way to the ledge.

"Elijah."

"What?"

"_Elijah._"

He finally stopped and turned around. "_What?_"

Lilly nudged the human skull on the ground.

He blanched. "That's…"

Something moved on the very edge of her vision, straight up, right over Elijah's head.

"RUN!" she screamed, barreling past him.

Stubbornly, Elijah craned his head to look above him in time to see the giant spider in its massive perch on the ceiling of the cave. Easily larger than two oxen put together, an angry, spitting hiss screeched from behind its massive fangs as it rapidly lowered.

Lilly grabbed him by the arm and yanked him with her up the steps to the ledge. Elijah's bow fell from his hand and bounced out of reach. Distantly, she saw that there was a man—a _body_—lying on the stone in front of her, but the thud of the spider hitting the ground behind them drove that to the back of her mind.

She spun around, frantically looking for an exit. There wasn't one. "What do we do?" she cried.

Determination flashed on Elijah's face a split second before he lunged at her. She felt her head snap back as he tackled her roughly, his arms wrapping around her. Something tore and gave behind her with a violent _rip_, and her eyes squeezed shut when she felt them both falling.

Inches from her face, Elijah grunted as he hit the ground hard on his side, sparing her from the impact. He released her right away, and Lilly rolled away from him to rest on her back, the wind knocked out of her.

Elijah had forced them both through the thick webbing covering the alcove of what had to have been the entrance into Nchuand-Zel. Blinking hard, she sat up and realized three things at once—the spider hadn't given up that easily, the alcove wasn't small enough to protect them, and Elijah's bow was gone.

"Get down!" he commanded behind her, his voice loud and full of sudden authority. It was a voice anyone would obey on instinct, and that was exactly what she did.

Elijah held out his hand and punched it through the air toward the spider. Fire burst from his palm and blasted into the giant creature. Tiny flames caught and spread across its cluster of glistening eyes, and it shrieked, staggering.

He did it again and again. Lilly's hair blew back over her shoulders with the force of the impacts. Waves of heat billowed from the explosions thundering through the small niche they were in. She clapped her hands over her ears, scrambling away from Elijah and the spider.

Finally, it was quiet. Lilly lowered her hands and peered behind her. Her ears were ringing. Chest heaving, Elijah stood unmoving as he stared down at the smoldering heap in front of him.

She asked him if it was dead, not hearing her own voice as her lips moved. He nodded without turning around.

Lilly hauled herself to her feet, walking toward him like she was wading through waist-deep water. She had seen fire magic used only once before, when her home in Falkreath was attacked—and Elijah's magic made those vampires seem as if they were playing with candles.

"What _was_ that?" she asked in awe.

He turned to her, a fierce scowl on his face. "You asked me not to tell anyone about how you picked the lock."

Wordlessly, she nodded, intimidated by his sudden anger.

"Now it's your turn not to tell anyone about what I did. Not about the magelight, or the fire."

Lilly nodded again.

"Say it!" Elijah barked, and she flinched.

"I won't tell anyone," she stammered. "I won't tell, all right?"

His jaw clenched a few times as his face slowly relaxed. "Good. Good."

_You're hiding something,_ Lilly decided as she watched him. _And I'm going to find out what it is. _


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N:** I almost gave myself a heart attack when I realized my keyboard had shorted out after having a glass of water knocked over on it (likely the work of a feline that KNOWS BETTER DAMMIT ABBY.) I'm now the new user of a shitty rubber keyboard that is hard to type on, but hey! At least I can still write!

* * *

Twigs trailed behind Tinúviel as she stomped through the woods. The rigid set of her back and the stiff way she held her arms at her side told him she was in a mood about something. He liked that he could tell how she felt just by looking at her. Then he forced his smile to disappear. Tinúviel would hate it if she saw him doing that, and _he_ would hate it if he turned into one of those men that found it amusing when women were angry.

Riften was officially no longer in sight. She had led them out the north gate long ago, but had abruptly left the marked road for a dirt path soon after. For close to an hour they'd been wandering aimlessly through the sparse forest after next leaving the path behind.

"'Just a little walk, Twigs,'" he called out.

Tinúviel didn't say anything, but he knew she'd heard him.

"'Just for a bit while we wait for Brynjolf to come back.'"

"Oh, sod off!"

With a sigh, he trotted forward to snatch at her arm. "C'mon, slow down. I think we're lost."

To his surprise, she listened. She slowed to a stop in front of a shallow pond and immediately crossed her arms, glaring at the scenery in front of her.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently.

For a long moment, only the delicate but insistent song of a nirnroot chimed over the water. "I don't know." Tinúviel spoke quietly. "I want to keep walking. I think the border into Morrowind isn't far."

He smiled. "You want to walk all the way to Morrowind?"

"Maybe we should." She turned to him, her eyes strangely intense. "I've never seen it before. We could go there, travel."

Twigs rubbed the back of his neck. Tinúviel sounded so hopeful, suddenly, and he started to think she hadn't been joking. "Is this about the Guild? You don't have to join, you know."

With a frustrated groan, she whipped around and stalked off again. Her hair rippled with each angry step. Twigs followed, shaking his head, and decided it would be best to let her work it out on her own.

Edging closer to the rocky cliff walls bordering the clearing, Twigs quickly discovered she had led them to what appeared to a mine. "Did you know this was here?"

"No." Tinúviel kicked at a sack near the doors set into the rock face of the cave. It tipped over and burst open, and tiny, shriveled brown apples rolled everywhere. "Looks like no one's been here for a while."

"Or they don't like apples."

The same intensity from before was back when she looked at him. "Isn't this what you do for a living? Go into caves and ruins and tombs?"

"Yes," he allowed, "but not mines."

"Why not?"

"Mines are usually full of miners."

"This one's not."

"You don't know that."

Just like he thought she might, Tinúviel made straight for the wooden doors and shoved them open like she was looking for a couple of heads to crack together. He quickly followed her inside, annoyed that he hadn't thought to bring his bow with him.

Even with the doors wide open behind them to let in some of the mid-afternoon sunshine, the tunnel ahead of them was almost pitch-black. Instincts taking over, Twigs took Tinúviel by the hand. "Wait. There should be light in here to lead the way to the main chamber."

"I told you, this looks abandoned," she whispered.

"And until we find out why, it's not a good idea to go charging in here like a bull, Tinúviel."

He moved forward cautiously, shuffling his feet on the ground. Mines were notorious for the collapsed sinkholes dotting the interiors, and the workers inside were equally notorious for merely laying wooden boards over the top.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the dimness, he found a tall, heavy brazier resting against the wall of the tunnel. The basin was cold to the touch, and the peat inside had burned itself out until only thin ashes remained.

More confidently, he rounded the corner, his hand trailing along the wall for balance. The main chamber was tiny and dominated by a very small pond fed by an even smaller waterfall. A few holes punched through the cave ceiling were enough to fill the space with muted natural light.

A single table, crudely constructed of misshapen planks, was situated near the water. Tinúviel went straight for it. An extinguished lantern and some rotting food lay on the surface, and her quick hands snatched up a small journal from the bench.

Moving closer to a spot of light, she flipped it open eagerly. "Good handwriting for a miner," she muttered. A moment passed, and she turned a page. "They abandoned the mine. No ore."

"Fascinating," Twigs replied dryly. "Can we leave? I don't want to be caught in the forest when the sun starts to set."

Tinúviel tossed the little book on the table. "No."

"_Why_."

"I don't want to…" she faltered, looking away. "I don't think I can go back there."

"Ever?" he asked tentatively.

Her hands wandered over her waist, tugging at the leather she wore. After her visit to the Cistern hours earlier, she'd been given a set of new Guild armor that had been tailored for her, impressively quickly, by one of the merchants in the Flagon. "I don't think I can face her."

By _her_, Twigs understood who she meant. "Tinúviel… you don't have anything to worry about."

"How can you say that?" she snapped. "You have no idea what she'll have to say to me."

He scratched at his head. "What do you think she'll say?"

"I have a very old and very expensive family heirloom of hers; or rather, my father had it. Under his bed, with a woman's ribbon." Tinúviel paced away from him. "What if she asks for it back? What if it was _hers?_ What if she… and my father…"

Twigs hadn't thought of any of that. "We won't have answers until we go back."

"This was a mistake." Tinúviel suddenly started to fumble with the belts around her waist. Once she'd gotten them loose, she began to unbutton the cuirass. "I should never have told Brynjolf I would join."

"Come on… don't—" He reached out to pick up the leather when it dropped to the ground.

Her boots were kicked off, followed by her trousers. Tinúviel kept shedding her clothing until finally she stood in front of him completely naked. Determined to keep eye contact, he waited with his arms full of the new armor and her underthings.

"Put those down," she commanded.

"Gonna walk back to Riften like that?" Twigs shook his head. "Let's just get dressed and go back."

Tinúviel sauntered forward. "Not just yet. We can still have a bit of fun in this cave."

"Right." He rolled his eyes. "Just a dusty abandoned mine with—"

She grabbed his hand and matter-of-factly placed it on her breast, which Twigs was rapidly understanding to be one of her favorite ways to initiate play. He felt himself stir, and cleared his throat.

"Ever done anything like this in your caves and tombs?" she murmured.

Twigs licked his lips. "We're not doing _anything_, Tinúviel. We have to get back."

Aggressively swatting the pile of leathers out of his hand, she reached over to him and began to unbuckle his pants.

"Come on," he protested weakly.

Her hand dipped inside of his trousers and curled around him firmly. Tinúviel started to stroke him, reaching up with her free hand to pull him down for a kiss. When she climbed up onto the table and kicked everything to the ground, he let out a long sigh.

* * *

No one said anything when they returned to the Flagon, despite having essentially gone missing for over four hours. Twigs was paranoid that everyone else could tell he was exhausted and dirty, wanting nothing more than to take a bath.

Tinúviel made no effort to hide how cranky she had become. Even the burly Imperial that had given him trouble on his first visit seemed keen to avoid her. She marched past him with dirt smeared on her forehead and the hair at the back of her head tangled in knots.

When she got into the bar area, though, her step faltered. Twigs could tell from behind her that she'd spotted Brynjolf at the table in the corner, his head tilted back in a loud laugh. A slim female form sat across from him, her back to the both of them.

Brynjolf spotted them only a second later, and rose up from the table. "There you are!" he called out.

Chatter in the Flagon died down almost right away.

"Where've you been off to? It's been hours!"

Twigs thought Brynjolf sounded a little drunk. "Got a little turned around when we took a walk," he told the thief.

The woman across from Brynjolf pushed away her dinner and stood up, turning to offer them a smile. A Dunmer, she was a bit taller than Tinúviel, which still made her quite small compared to him. The armor she wore was different than both the standard brown Guild armor and the darker leather of what Brynjolf wore; hers was black as midnight, and wrapped tightly around her entire body.

She shared Tinúviel's dark skin tone, and she had the same delicately pointed features and ears—but her eyes were different than the ruby red Twigs had become accustomed to seeing. They were a shocking, brilliant purple, deeper and clearer than any amethyst he'd ever seen.

"Hello," she said quietly. "I'm Karliah." Her voice, low and husky, was mesmerizing like her eyes.

Tinúviel didn't say anything.

Twigs stepped forward quickly, offering his hand. "I'm Twigs. This is Tinúviel. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"You as well. Brynjolf told me I was wanted here?" The end of her sentence tilted up in a question, and she turned to the red-haired man for a second before glancing back to Tinúviel.

Twigs chuckled nervously, looking out of the corner of his eye at Tinúviel. He couldn't tell what her silence meant, and he prayed to the gods that it wasn't a hostile one.

Tinúviel took a deep breath, and then nodded. "I…"

Karliah watched her expectantly.

Abruptly, Tinúviel reached behind her and pulled her dagger, sheath and all, from her belt. She thrust it at Karliah, who blinked and accepted the weapon gingerly.

"This dagger…" The blade gleamed in the light when Karliah slid it from its sheath, reading the family name. "You are who you say you are, then."

Tinúviel's brows shot up. "Sorry?"

"Bryn described you when he came for me. I recognized your name." Karliah didn't look up from the dagger. "My mother has been dead for many years now, but in her things she left a letter for you."

"A letter?" Tinúviel dropped her folded arms to her sides. "For me? Why?"

"I have not opened it," Karliah told her. "I'm as curious as you are."

"Who was your mother?" Twigs asked.

"Her name was Dralsi Indoril. She spent years trying to track down her father—my grandfather—Drayven Indoril, who was a Nightingale. He taught her what she knew, and she eventually became one as well. She did the same for me, and I became a Nightingale after she was killed defending the Twilight Sepulcher, our holy place." Karliah gazed at Tinúviel with calm, steady eyes. "And you're only privy to this information because you've joined the Guild, and because Bryn has vouched for you."

"Aye." Brynjolf spoke up. "But I think you're missing a rather important piece of the tale, lass."

Karliah hesitated for a few seconds, a faint expression of displeasure coming over her face. "My mother was the daughter of Queen Barenziah."

Twigs' mouth dropped open in surprise before he could muster a response. "You're the granddaughter of a _queen?_"

"No." Her violet eyes drilled into his. "I am a Nightingale."

Brynjolf laid a hand on her shoulder. "And a damn good one, too."

Karliah's smaller, darker hand found the thief's, and they stayed touching like that for a moment before both of them moved their arms away. It was a tiny, brief thing, but it spoke much, and Twigs realized they were together. "I would hope that you would tell me what's written within, but I'll understand if you don't." She held out a yellowed paper, sealed with a large blob of wax.

Tinúviel didn't take it.

Twigs did. "Don't you want to read it?"

"No." Tinúviel turned around. "Yes."

Brynjolf and Karliah were quiet, watching her. The rest of the thieves in the Flagon took the hint and went about their own business once again. Two men at a corner table began arguing obnoxiously about an arm-wrestling rematch, and then someone threw a raw potato. It exploded into the middle of the table, sending bottles of mead and dishes of food flying.

Ignoring the sounds of scuffling behind him, Twigs draped a gentle arm around Tinúviel's shoulders and led her to the wooden platform behind him. Stretching out over the shallow stone basin of water that made up most of the space in the Flagon, it was surrounded by low, makeshift walls of boxes. No one was around, and it was a tiny bit quieter.

Tinúviel picked a sturdy-looking crate to sit on. "I don't want to read that letter."

"Why?" Twigs flipped it around, looking at the plain stamp pressed into the wax. "I have to admit, I'm interested in what this might say."

"What would a Nightingale, the daughter of a queen, and the member of one of the old Great Houses of Morrowind want with me?" she demanded. "Why would she have written a letter for me so many years ago?"

Twigs considered that. "What are you afraid of reading in this?"

She took a long time to reply. "I'm afraid that she was my mother. That Karliah is my sister."

"Would that be so bad?"

Tinúviel glared at him. "Karliah doesn't exactly look thrilled about all this, you know. Finding out that her mother had a child that she knew nothing about isn't going to earn me her friendship. What if she tells Brynjolf to kick me out of the Guild?"

Twigs could tell she was genuinely upset by the way her accent grew more pronounced. "Aldric is the Guildmaster," he reminded her. "And I thought you didn't want to be in the Guild, anyway."

She scowled. "Of course I want to be in the Guild. I was just being stupid earlier."

Hiding a smile, he held out the letter. "Then let's get this over with."

"Can… can you read it?" Tinúviel looked up at him. "Just read it, and then tell me if it's bad."

"I think you and I have different definitions of 'bad.'"

"Oh, shut up. You know what I mean."

With a sigh, Twigs carefully cracked the wax seal in half. Brittle with age, it gave easily. The paper was equally fragile, and he unfolded it slowly to find that there was more than one page. He moved to find the light, and then started to read.

_My sweet little Tinú,_

_It's hard for me to imagine you reading this letter. It will mean I'm gone, and that you've grown up from being the beautiful little seven-year-old fast asleep only a few paces from me. _

_Varis and I met in Shor's Stone, when I came to the town seeking my father. He'd been banished from the Guild after he botched a job that left another thief dead. Only months before I arrived in the Rift, your mother had come in the night and left you, a newborn in a basket, on his doorstep. _

_Your father likes to jest that I loved you before him. That is the truth. It was impossible to resist you. You were such a wonderful baby, and you are such a smart and tenacious child, always smiling, always learning. It has been my honor to guide you as you've grown._

_Varis knew when he met me that I did not intend to stay long in Shor's Stone with him. He accepted it for whatever time with me he could have. I spent seven years in his arms, and seven years with you in mine. Seven years that I will always treasure._

_My father has passed away, and now comes the time for me to leave. My entire life has been leading me to what is going to happen next; I will find loyalty, kinship, honor, and above all, a purpose. A purpose that has been in my blood for centuries. _

_This purpose decrees that it be put before all else I would have. It is more important than my very life, which I have known and understood for quite some time now—and there may come a day when these principles are called upon, tested. _

_That is why I write this letter. I write it for the day that my life has been sacrificed to protect that which I have sworn to defend._

_I have left something with your father, something that is very old and has been passed down through my family. It belonged to my grandmother, and it was once something that symbolized great influence—she left it with me when I was a newborn in a basket, so to speak._

_I've given it to Varis with the instructions to give it to you on your eighteenth birthday. He knows where to find me, and it is my hope that you will come and meet me. If you agree, I would very much like to train you as my father trained me._

_I will not forget you, my Tinú. Know that there will always be a place for you—in my heart for now, and at my side when you are grown. _

_Dralsi Indoril_

Twigs read the letter very fast, his eyes eating up the spindly, elegant script—and then he read it again, much slower. "She calls you Tinú."

Tinúviel's head snapped up. "That was what my father called me."

"She knew your father." He handed her the pages. "You need to read this."

She snatched it, looking anxious. Twigs turned to look out into the Flagon, giving her some privacy. Across the splash of the water, the smith nearby pounded away at a sword he was forging, glowing red and white with heat. Sparks flew with each strike of his heavy hammer.

Tinúviel was quiet for even longer than he'd been. Twigs looked over his shoulder to check on her, and blanched when he saw that she was crying.

He rushed across the little dock to her, kneeling on the wooden floor. "Are you all right?"

Tinúviel looked up from the papers, and her eyes looked empty. "She… wrote that she loved me. That she raised me for seven years."

He nodded mutely.

"I don't remember her." Tinúviel's arms went slack, and the papers fell to her lap. "I don't remember her."

Twigs ran a hand up and down her arm, thinking hard. Getting details from Tinúviel about her past was like torturing a trained agent for information, but he'd gotten enough to understand.

Her father had been a drunk, and a bad one at that. It had ultimately killed him, but not before he'd made a young Tinúviel's life miserable. They had lived in Windhelm all her life, never once rising from the poverty he'd been content to stay in, and he'd never spoken about who her mother had been.

Dralsi spoke of a happy, cheerful child—of a Varis that had been content and in love. And it was obvious, from what Tinúviel had told him, that her father had _not_ given her the dagger or told her of the woman waiting for her on the other side of the country.

Dralsi had died not knowing that Tinúviel's memories of her had faded as she grew up. Tinúviel had lived thinking she was alone and that no one had ever cared about her.

Twigs reached up to wrap his arms around her, but her hands on his chest stopped him. He pulled back, fearing he would see a familiar hardened expression on her face. Instead, she gently caressed his face.

"Give this to Karliah." She pushed the letter toward him. "She wants to read it, and I'd like to ask her a question or two, if that's all right with her."

He nodded again, and rose to enter the bar area. Brynjolf and Karliah were sitting again, waiting in silence. Karliah stood when she saw him, and agreed when he repeated Tinúviel's request.

Ordinarily Twigs would've given her privacy as well, but something in him drove him to stand and watch her carefully, with Tinúviel behind him. Earlier he had disagreed with her fear that Karliah would take it badly, but now he wasn't so sure.

Karliah was reading a letter her mother had written to another girl, someone her mother had considered a sort of daughter. She was reading her mother's wishes to, if Twigs understood correctly, train Tinúviel to be a Nightingale… a position Karliah herself had eventually filled.

Karliah had the life Tinúviel could have had—_would_ have had, if not for her father's interference.

When the other woman finally looked up from the paper in her hands, her face was sorrowful. "I'm ready to speak with her now."

Twigs thought Tinúviel had changed her mind, but she got up and stood next to him.

Karliah spoke first. "What do you think about this, Tinúviel?"

"I'm not sure what to think." Tinúviel's voice was impressively steady. "I… I don't remember your mother, to be honest."

"I am sorry for that. It sounded as if she cared for you very much."

"That doesn't bother you?"

Karliah gave her a small smile. "No. My mother loved me, and my father, very much. It doesn't surprise me that she had enough to give to you and your father."

Twigs relaxed at hearing the warmth in her voice.

"Dralsi spoke of a purpose in her letter, the reason she had to leave," Tinúviel noted. "I assume that was joining the Nightingales."

"Yes."

"And being a Nightingale doesn't allow you to have a family?"

Karliah visibly hesitated. "It says nowhere in the oath that we must disavow partners or children," she began slowly. "But we swear to protect and uphold the Sepulcher and the order with our lives. Mercenaries tried to raid it, and my mother died fighting them, and this was expected of her. It is expected of us all." She gave a small shrug. "Traditional families do not fit neatly into our lives."

"But she had you."

"She did."

Brynjolf spoke up. "Your father never gave you the dagger or told you about Dralsi?"

Tinúviel shook her head. "No. He never said anything."

The other man frowned. "Why? That makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense, if you knew my father," Tinúviel said dryly. "It was never in his best interest to see me happy. For all I know, he drank away his memories."

"What happens now?" Twigs asked after a short moment.

Karliah shared a look with Brynjolf.

"It seems Dralsi saw the same potential in you when you were a little one that Aldric and I see in you now," Brynjolf replied.

"I can't see myself being a Nightingale."

Karliah nodded once. "We wouldn't ask it of you now." Then she and Brynjolf glanced at each other again. "However, there may come a day when the trinity will need to be restored once again. I trusted my mother, and if she truly did wish this, I would hope that you might consider my offer of training and guidance."

Tinúviel, strangely enough, looked up at Twigs when she answered. "I think for now, I'll be content to be part of the Guild."

"Fair enough, lass." Brynjolf gave her a last smile before heading back to the bar.

Karliah hung back, looking uncertain. She folded the letter neatly, running her fingers sharply along the creases, and held it out along with the blade. "These belong to you."

Tinúviel balked. "I can't take that dagger."

"It's yours, Tinúviel. It may have been in my family, but it doesn't mean anything to me." Karliah took a step forward. "By rights, this is yours."

To Twigs' relief, Tinúviel accepted it. "Thank you, Karliah… for everything. You didn't have to do what you did today. I think quite a lot of other people in your place would have read that letter long ago, and they wouldn't have met with me today."

Karliah bowed her head in acknowledgement. "I am glad to know you, Tinúviel."

Twigs watched her follow Brynjolf into the Cistern. "So does this mean I can call you Tinú?"

Her elbow knocked into his ribs. "Stop."

"I guess you'll be living in Riften, then."

Tinúviel shrugged. "I suppose so. Brynjolf told me they have smaller factions in each city, but I don't have any desire to back to Windhelm. There's nothing for me there. Riften isn't so terrible."

"It's not," he agreed. "But we still have to visit Augustus."

"Soon enough." Tinúviel sighed. "I never thought I wouldn't be ready to be given a vast amount of gold, but… my life will change so much. I can wait a bit."

_As long as I have you, I don't care about the money._ It was on the tip of his tongue, but for some reason he couldn't say it.

Instead, he wound his fingers through hers as they left the Flagon. "If you say so… Tinú."


End file.
